The Linkverse: EQUINOX
by Dee Bradfield
Summary: LINKVERSE SERIES - PART FOUR. Five years after True Colors, life in the Grey household takes an unexpected turn with the arrival of a new Slayer.
1. Overture

THE LINKVERSE: E Q U I N O X

By Dee Bradfield

e-qui·nox _n._ [L. _æquus_, equal, and _nox_, night.]   
Either of the two occasions during a year when the sun crosses the equator, making the day and night everywhere of equal length.

SUMMARY: Life in the Grey household takes an unexpected turn with the arrival of a new Slayer.  
**TIMELINE:** Set five years after True Colors. (It's not vitally important that you've read the Linkverse Trilogy first, but it helps!)  
**DISCLAIMER:** The usual claptrap.  
**FEEDBACK: **deebradfieldhotmail.com  
**DEDICATION:** For everyone who asked.

-1-

OVERTURE

The last person Lydia Sherwood expected to answer her knock at the door was a bright-eyed, fair-haired imp of a child who looked barely tall enough to reach the handle.

"Oh, hello," she said, taken aback. "Are, um, are your m-mother or your father at home?"

The boy stared at her for a long moment, before he opened his mouth and yelled, "Spike!" at the top of his lungs.

Another child materialized at his shoulder. This one, though of equal height, was as dark as the first was fair. "Whoosit?" he whispered.

"Dunno," the other hissed back. "Go get Spike, 'kay?"

He had still not dropped his gaze from Lydia's face. Such piercing scrutiny was disconcerting coming from one so young and she began to feel uncomfortable. Fighting the undignified urge to fidget, she gave him a tentative smile instead.

Save for the arching of one finely etched brow, his expression didn't alter in the slightest. "Butt's just gonna get my Dad," he told her.

Lydia's polite smile crumpled into an involuntary grimace_._

'Spike'? 'Butt'? Just what class of people was this Slayer associating with? They sounded like a group of ruffians. Although, when one thought about it, 'Buffy' wasn't really the most prosaic of names either…

There was a muffled noise from behind the tiny sentry and when her eyes rose to meet the source, her knees almost gave out.

Oh… my…

He was the most glorious specimen of manhood she had ever laid eyes on, graceful and lean of limb in a long-sleeved grey shirt that clung to his well-defined muscles and black dress pants over incongruously bare feet. White gold curls formed a halo above his angelic face, with its scimitar sharp cheekbones and beautifully carved lower lip, and there was a soft inquiring light behind eyes the color of faded denim.

"Can I help you, love?"

She ducked her head, trying to compose herself as his voice sent shivers down her spine. It was smoother than the finest caramel, but just as rich and quite unmistakably British as well. _Help me, oh please help me!_

Lydia looked back up to answer, but halfway there she met the curious gaze of the child who had answered the door. His eyes were the same shade as… _Oh! _Now that she was taking better notice it was quite obvious that the boy was a miniaturized version of the man, the picture perfect son.

"She don't say much, huh?" the boy asked, tipping his head back to seek confirmation from his father.

The gorgeous man frowned at her, even as one large square hand came up to rest reassuringly amid the golden tumble of the boy's hair. "Go out back and play with Butt," he said.

"Don't wanna."

That earned him a reproachful look. "Mind me, Nip!"

The child scowled, but obeyed without any further argument, even if he did drag his feet the entire length of the hallway. He was met by the little dark-haired chap and they both stood whispering conspiracies for a moment before finally disappearing through the door.

'Nip', Lydia mused silently. _Did anyone in this household answer to a normal name?_ She plastered the polite smile on a little more firmly, mustering together enough courage to meet that heart-stopping gaze.

"Sorry to impose upon your time, but I was wondering if this was the Summers residence?"

Faded blue turned guarded. "Not anymore."

"Buffy Summers is no longer living here?"

"Didn't say that."

Lydia nibbled at her lower lip. Really, this man was being entirely too evasive for her liking. Something wasn't adding up. "I'm sorry, Mr. -?"

"Grey," the blonde man supplied, sticking his hand out abruptly, as though he had been prompted in some invisible way. "Liam Grey."

Liam, Lydia delighted as he pressed his callused palm against hers, the name bringing to mind a certain British bad boy rocker. _Was this one a bad boy too? One could only dream…_

His next words dashed those dreams to smithereens.

"Buffy's my wife."

His wife? Now here was a fine kettle of fish. The Slayer was married and, if one processed the given information logically, a mother as well. Why hadn't the Council known about this?

The scrumptious Mr. Grey had apparently decided to take pity on her and motioned her forward. "You wanna come in?"

"Yes, thank you."

She trailed after him into the living room, absently noting that the view from the back was as enticing as the front, and perched on the very edge of the shabby green armchair she was offered. He sprawled in a decorative heap on the sofa across from her and gestured around the room with a dismissive air. "'Scuse the mess."

Lydia hadn't noticed any mess, but now that he mentioned it, there were boxes and toys strewn about in careless abandon, their colorful presence broken here and there by wads of torn wrapping paper.

She glanced up to take in the festive strings of homemade streamers, clusters of balloons and the large printed banner tacked along one wall. There was apparently some sort of party underway, a birthday no less, and she felt mortified at having intruded at such an inopportune time.

"Oh dear, you're having a social function! Perhaps it would be better if I..."

Mr. Grey snorted in the most inelegant way. "What's one more amid the rabble?" he asked. "You came to chat something out, so let's... _chat_."

The last word was punctuated with a wag of his brows and an enchantingly crooked little smile that knocked the air from her lungs. She'd just recovered her nerve for the second time and was set to plunge into her prepared spiel, when all his attention converged on a point beyond her left shoulder.

"Hey there, sunshine!" he saluted cheerfully. "Got ourselves a visitor of the non-Scooby variety."

"And aren't you just loving it?"

The young woman that the voice belonged to edged into Lydia's peripheral vision as she spoke, and then crossed to join the man on the sofa. Once seated, she too stuck out a hand in friendly greeting. "Hi. Buffy Grey."

Lydia had seen photographs, of course, but she hadn't been prepared for just how tiny this woman was. At twenty-six, the oldest Slayer in recorded history was small and slim and quite stunningly beautiful, with cascades of honey colored hair and enormous green eyes that gleamed with an indomitable inner spirit. She was regarding Lydia now with frank appraisal, taking in the tightly wound bun, the unflattering glasses and sensible business attire.

She suddenly withdrew her proffered hand. "You're from the Council."

Her husband tensed at this, priming himself for attack in a cold, reflexive manner that was not unlike a coiled snake, those incendiary blue eyes going flat and hostile.

Buffy barely glanced at him, but something in the brief flicker of her gaze caused him to back down slightly. She murmured one word in low caution, "Spike..."

Spike. _Spike?_ All the pieces fell into place. _Oh dear Lord, why had she not recognized the name sooner?_

As inconceivable a notion as it was, as incredible, it seemed that she was sitting adjacent from one of the most infamous vampires ever to walk the planet: William the Bloody, Scourge of Europe, Slayer of Slayers. Except, he'd apparently married this one... and somehow managed to father a child? _What on earth had she stumbled across here?_

After an awkward pause, she cleared her throat. "Um, yes. Indeed, how very perceptive. My name is Lydia Sherwood. I have a proposition for you."

"Please tell me it has nothing to do with the new Slayer." Buffy's hands twisted into a white-knuckled knot on her lap.

Spike reached out and clasped one hand over both of hers, a comforting gesture that Lydia couldn't help but envy. "We've not quite grieved proper for the last one," he confided.

Lydia belatedly recalled that her charge's unfortunate predecessor had worked side by side with this girl a number of times, and had in fact been killed while in the employ of her former beau. Yet another vampire.

"Ah, yes. Faith." Lydia smoothed an errant strand of hair back behind her ear with nervous fingers, uncertain of how to proceed. "Faith was..."

"Yeah, Faith was." Buffy echoed dully. "Let's just move on, huh?"

After one final squeeze, Spike released his hold on her hands and slumped back against the sofa cushions. "So," he said archly, "You Watchers sending in some fresh meat then?" The tip of his tongue prodded suggestively at one of his incisors.

Lydia was shocked by the implication. Her eyes darted to Buffy's neck, widening when she noticed the over-lapping scars of at least two vampire bites. "Certainly not!" she protested, reaching for the simple gold cross hanging around her throat in a curiously old-fashioned gesture. "My Slayer is nothing of the kind!"

"_Your_ Slayer?" Buffy asked, frowning distractedly in the direction of the dining room. "That's kinda big with the possessive, isn't it? Doesn't she have a proper name?"

Spike followed her gaze, his own brows dipping in concentration. Seconds later, a crash was heard coming from that very room.

"_Nip!_" he bellowed without warning, causing Lydia to jump.

The little boy appeared at the doorway in a flash. "What?" he shot back defensively. "Wasn't doin' nothing." He hesitated for a beat, and then blurted, "Butt did it!"

The blonde vampire pursed his lips. "Hey now, what've I told you 'bout fibbing?"

Nip sighed. "'Don't lie unless you can do it convincingly'," he recited.

Buffy gasped in horror. "Spike! What are you teaching him?" She looked sternly at the lad. "You will _always_ be honest with us, Seth Grey. Are you understanding me?"

"Yeah." He shuffled from one foot to the other, hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. "Butt broke one of Grandma Joyce's fancy old thingies," he disclosed.

"Butt did? Really?" Buffy gave Lydia an apologetic glance. "I'll be right back."

She hesitated for a moment on standing, palms rubbing nervously at her jean-clad thighs, as though wanting to say something further,. Surprisingly, Spike nodded as though she actually had. Buffy smiled cordially, and shooed her son back into the dining room.

In the odd, uncomfortably silent void that came next, Lydia turned back to the vampire of the house, only to find him watching her with a contemplative expression.

Her curiosity finally got the better of her. "Your son has a playmate named Butt?"

Spike chuckled, genuinely amused by the question. "Friend of the family's kid. Buck Harris. Nip couldn't get it said straight when he was a toddler an' even when he finally did, the other handle had already stuck."

"I see," Lydia murmured, though she didn't at all. Nothing here was what it appeared on the surface. And who in their right mind would even call their child 'Buck' in the first place?

Buffy suddenly rushed back into the room. "Spike, you take care of it," she ordered in exasperation. "I swear that kid is so much like you sometimes I just wanna… _Grr! Aargh!_" This last was accompanied by the mock strangling of an invisible victim.

Spike didn't so much rise from the sofa as flow upward in an impressively effortless flex of muscle. He gave Lydia a wink. "Give us a sec, pet."

Lydia watched with dreamy eyes as he exited, only to startle with guilt when the Slayer intercepted her trailing gaze.

"Bet that's a first," the young woman remarked, folding her arms across her chest. "A Watcher making goo-goo eyes at a vamp. _My_ vamp."

"I'm sorry," Lydia said, wondering if she hadn't reached her quota on that particular phrase today. "I'm just…"

"Checking out my husband's ass?"

Lydia blushed. "Finding myself somewhat at a loss," she confessed. "He's really rather... human, isn't he?"

"He is human," Buffy stated. "For all intents and purposes anyway. Fully functioning. Hence the cute little mini-me clone in the other room." She shrugged. "Spike's vampire parts are just kinda like... a special edition feature."

Lydia blinked at her, nonplussed.

"Look," Buffy continued. "I know that you Council types have been out of the loop for a while now, so I'm gonna cut you a break on the whole not-knowing-what-the-hell-is-going-on thing, but I will tell you this. I have no interest whatsoever in rejoining your stuffy little regime, so you can just forget it."

Lydia blinked again. "I don't really…"

"Crap," Buffy said succinctly. "Let me fill in the blanks here. The new Slayer is kinda green, am I right? Kinda new to the slayage? And you guys want me to pick up her slack."

"No, that's not it at all. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. It's just that the Council Academics have uncovered a pro-"

Buffy jabbed a finger at her. "Say 'prophecy' and I'll kick your ass."

"A portent, then," Lydia continued primly. "An omen."

Spike returned right when Buffy looked ready to pop her one.

"Butt says to tell you sorry," he reported, slouching against the doorframe. "Not that he should. I've wanted to smash that African totem doohickey for years." He ignored the Slayer's outraged look. "I sent 'em both outside so that the whelp and his missus can keep tabs."

Buffy just went on glaring at him, hands on hips. "Mom loved that African doohickey!"

"And now she can have it with her in that great big recycling depot in the sky," he returned. "C'mon, Buff, it was uglier than Peaches." He waggled a finger at her. "You know, come to think of it, the damned thing bore an uncanny resemblance to me old Sire. That whole brooding block of wood mystique. No wonder it always struck me funny."

The Slayer wrinkled her nose in a way that should have been unattractive but wasn't. Her mouth compressed into a firm line, and she stormed over and got right up into his face, her narrowed eyes locked onto his.

He stared right back; his own face impassive but for the demonic sparks of yellow that burst to life in his eyes. His nostrils flared and a low, animalistic growl rumbled up in his throat.

Lydiafound herself gawking at them in a terribly undignified fashion. _It was as though they were speaking without words_, she realized with shock, _communicating via some kind of telepathic bond._ There were no means to adequately explain this in her report; she really should be taking notes. Her fingers twitched, craving her favorite fountain pen.

Spike pushed off from the doorframe, but instead of attacking, he merely stood toe-to-toe with the Slayer, arms hanging loosely by his sides, presenting an open target. He angled his chin; his upper lip pulling back in a sneer that exposed the sharp points of his fangs and the serpentine tongue curling behind. Astonishingly, he had not yet made the full transition into his vampiric form.

With only an inch of space between the two now, the air around them changed, taking on a different sort of tension altogether.

Buffy's breathing quickened, her lips parting as she pressed both palms flat against his chest, kneading at the material of his shirt like a cat. She let out a crackling little purr that only reinforced the image.

Spike's hands slid up over her hips, fingers clutching convulsively, tugging her closer. He growled again, raw and hungry.

Lydia squirmed in her chair; disturbed on a level she couldn't even begin to fathom. She tugged at the collar of her blouse. _Was it hot in here?_

Just as the Slayer's head lolled back, golden hair spilling to her waist as she bared her throat to the vampire in total submission, a new voice broke in.

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

A tall chap with shaggy dark hair stood inside the kitchen doorway. He gestured at the couple with the hotdog in his hand. "Do you guys have to do that where people can see you? It's embarrassing."

Spike shuddered as he pulled away from the Slayer, as though the separation pained him, but recovered quickly enough to flip a two-fingered salute at the latest arrival.

"Stuff it, monkey boy," he retorted. "You're just jealous."

"Darn tootin'," the other man replied with good grace, biting into the hotdog. "So," he continued around the mouthful. "Who's the chic chick?"

Buffy sighed, glancing back at him over her shoulder. "Xander Harris, meet Lydia Sherwood."

He grinned infectiously and stuck out a hand, only to pull it back when he realized that he had mustard smeared on his fingers. He wiped it off on his pants leg. "Sorry."

"She's a Watcher," Spike filled in. "Surprised all that tweed didn't give her away."

"Oh." Xander's ready grin faltered. He swallowed. "That can't be of the good."

"We're thinking no," Buffy agreed.

"Pardon me!" Lydia snapped. "But I _am_ still in the room!"

"O-o-o-h!" Xander crooned in appreciation. "She sounded like Giles just then, all snarky and British. Definitely a Watcher." He nodded sagely and shoveled the remainder of his hotdog into his mouth.

Spike grimaced at the gluttonous display, shaking his head. "And you lot still get squeamish when I have my daily dose of the red stuff. Can't figure the difference."

"At least he didn't blow bubbles in it through a curly straw," Buffy said, leaning her back against his chest and settling in with a little hip wiggle.

"Do something one time and it keeps comin' back to haunt you," the vampire muttered, looping his arms around her waist. He tipped his chin at Xander. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping tabs on the terrible twosome?"

"Anya's on it," Xander said. "And if she gets sidetracked, Willow and Tara are still out there."

"Uh huh." A beat and then Buffy's eyes widened in apprehension. "They're not… showing them any spells, are they?"

Xander looked troubled. "I hope not. Not after last time."

"Still finding feathers about the place," Spike commented, nestling contentedly against Buffy's hair. "Never seen a bird that big before. Not even that great yellow Muppety one on the telly."

"Oh man, you're telling me," Xander seconded. "That thing was seriously scary. I mean, it had _teeth_. What kind of bird has teeth?"

"The mutant monstery kind?" Buffy suggested.

Spike grinned. "Got to admit though, usin' bird_seed_ to grow the bugger was a stroke of pure bloody genius on Nipper's part."

"I'll admit to a definite maybe," Xander conceded. "But only prior to the egg-hatching incident, for which all credit goes to the big Buckaroo."

"Yeah, hey, I almost forgot about that part. With the…" Buffy made an abstractedly violent hand gesture. "_Squish!_ And then with the..." Several further, even more vicious movements. "_Ugh!_ Major EWW!" Spike was barely managing to choke back his laughter and she slapped at the forearm banded around her waist. "Shut up! We don't have a good track record when it comes to eggs. Eggs are evil."

"The evilest," Xander emphasized, and made a face. "I hate eggs. Mere words cannot express the extent of my hatred."

Lydia was enthralled by the conversation. The way they all took such bizarre events in their stride was astonishing. She needed to know more. "Excuse me, what manner of spell was this?"

They all stared at her, having forgotten by this point that she was even in the room. _How nice that she was so easily dismissed._

"Uh," Buffy floundered for a response that didn't incriminate any of them. "It was a - a…"

"Bird spell," Spike provided smoothly. "Whatever else?"

Lydia was unconvinced. She straightened her glasses and took a deep breath. "So, am I permitted to convey the reason for my presence yet?"

"No." Buffy and Spike spoke in unison.

"Reckon it's best to wait for the main event to arrive," the vampire finished.

"The main event?"

"Poppy G!"

The delighted squeal was accompanied by what sounded like hundreds of tiny footfalls as Nip and Butt charged at, then through, the front door, almost falling over each other in their haste.

"And the G-man makes an entrance," Xander observed with a wry amusement.

"The main event," Spike repeated meaningfully.

A slender, redheaded woman had followed the two youngsters indoors. "It's kinda creepy how they just know when he's here," she remarked, then blinked wide green eyes at Lydia. "Oh. There's someone…" She made a scrunchy face that might have been a smile and peered anxiously around at the others, awaiting an explanation.

"Willow Rosenberg-Maclay, Lydia Sherwood of the Watcher's Council." Buffy waved an apathetic hand back and forth between the two and then sighed. "You know, I'm getting kinda bored with the whole introduction thing," she declared. "Just spread the word among yourselves from now on." She hesitated for a moment, brow furrowing. "Or not." She looked at Xander. "Do we tell Ahn?"

He appeared to think twice, maybe even thrice before answering. "Good question. Last time they were mentioned she almost had conniptions. And right now, in the state she's in…? I dunno." He spread his hands in appeal to the others. "The Xander-booth is open for suggestions."

"I vote 'yea'," Willow said, still casting suspicious glances at the gatecrasher in their midst.

"Double that," Spike concurred. "Keep it secret and she's likely to pop when the truth finally comes out in the wash."

"Ixnay on the Anya-popping-vay," Buffy hissed suddenly, her hands making frantic shushing motions.

The reason for her alarm, though not her mutilated pidgin, became apparent when a _very_ pregnant woman lumbered into the room. She regarded them with something like disgust, russet strands of hair curling around her sharp-featured face, cheeks flushed and whiskey-colored eyes over-bright as if with fever.

"You could have told me you were all in the house," she complained. "I was roasting like a pig on a spit out there and not just because of my close proximity to the barbecue." She came to a dead stop in the centre of the room and just out-and-out stared at Lydia. "Why is there a Council person sitting in Spike's chair?"

Xander gaped. "How did you -? I mean, oh my God, she's with the Council?" He widened his eyes in a vain attempt to appear horrified by the revelation.

Spike snorted. "Oh, that's marvelously convincing."

"Oscar material," Buffy confirmed, deadpan.

"No it isn't. Xander couldn't lie if his life depended on it. Which it does, believe me." Anya advanced on Lydia. "Who are you, why are you here, and why is Xander trying to lie about it?"

"I – I… Er, th-that is…" Lydia could do little but hem and haw in the face of the onslaught. _Who was this relentless harpy?_

"What's wrong with her?" Anya's gaze turned appraising. "Is she broken?" She poked inquisitively at the Watcher's cheek. "She's not another robot is she?"

"I am most definitely not!"

Lydia recoiled, herhorror completely genuine, but then paused as the other woman's words registered. "I - Uh… I beg your pardon, did you say _another_ robot?"

Anya scoffed. "See, she's asking questions about us already. You just watch, they'll have us locked up and tortured for information before you can blink. They hate demons, you know. It doesn't matter if you've been a useful member of society for years and years, all they care about is how many men you eviscerated way back when and how they really were innocent and how they didn't deserve it, blah-de-blah-de-blah." She glared at Lydia. "They all deserved what they got and I don't feel bad about it. Write that in your little report."

Right, that's quite enough of this sort of behavior. You're a Watcher, Lydia Sherwood, these people should be treating you with the utmost respect.

"Oh do shut up, you horrid woman," she said icily. "What makes you think that the Council would be interested in you in the slightest? Who _are_ you?"

-x-

Lydia sat ramrod straight, still in shock from the completely unprovoked attack. Her glasses were askew, her hair disheveled, tufts of it sticking out like stalks of wheat from its customary confinement. How a woman so heavy with child had moved that swiftly remained beyond her comprehension. It had taken both Spike _and_ Xander to drag her away.

Willow smiled at her self-consciously from her spot on the sofa. "Not to keep repeating myself, but we _are_ really sorry about that," she said. "Anya gets kinda paranoid when she's near her due date." She munched pensively on the sole pretzel she'd selected from a dish on the coffee table and avoided Lydia's gaze.

The fair-haired woman at her side picked up the conversation.

"Um, yeah. Like, when she was getting close with Buck? She locked Xander out of their apartment for a week 'cause she thought he was cheating. S-so don't take it personally."

Tara Rosenberg-Maclay was a softly spoken, unassuming girl. On first meeting, Lydia had supposed from her name that she was Willow's sister. They'd soon cleared up that particular misconception, informing her that they were powerful witches who considered themselves just as married as the other couples in the group and had the photographs to prove it.

Not that those other couples were the most conventional pairings either.

A Slayer and a vampire she could almost understand. Being so close in their origins a certain degree of affinity was plausible, however misguided. But a human and a thousand-year-old vengeance demon, even one "of the 'ex' variety" as Buffy had phrased it, well... that just defied logic. Especially Watcher logic. It had been drilled into her for years, over and over - people did not mix with demons, it simply wasn't done.

She fussed with the portfolio that she'd brought along, trying to regain some of the sense of purpose she'd originally had in coming to this madhouse on Revello Drive. She was reluctant to raise the topic now, unsure as to the response she would get, especially from Buffy. The Slayer had grown very agitated and was currently circling the periphery of the room like a shark, just waiting for the scent of fresh blood to dive in for the kill.

When a more mature gentleman finally strolled into the room, Lydia found the lack of fanfare at his arrival almost anti-climactic, just a feeble, "Hey, P.G." from Willow.

He nodded to the witches and then settled into the armchair next to Lydia's; the much nicer one that was considerably less battered and wasn't the least bit redolent of stale cigarette smoke.

This, she surmised_, was the notorious 'Poppy G' that the children had been so excited about, the so-called 'main event'? How disappointing._

But then he smiled at her. A smile as devastatingly charismatic as the vampire's had been. "Hello there," he greeted in a beautifully cultured baritone. "You must be Lydia. I'm Rupert Giles, Buffy's Watcher. I believe you have a proposition for my Slayer."

Rupert. How delectably mundane. She stared breathlessly into his blue-grey eyes, lost for words. "I do?"

His smile widened, deepened, found purchase in that otherwise steely gaze. "It's perfectly understandable that you're shaken by what has transpired. Anya can be rather… _uninhibited_ on occasion. But we Watchers are nothing if not stoic." He leant over and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "So, stiff upper lip my dear, and on with the exposition."

"No." Buffy had stopped her incessant prowling to stand in front of the fireplace, her back to the room. She reached up to adjust the position of a pair of fairy statuettes on the mantle, her hand lingering a moment to trace the familiar features of the masculine one. "We have to wait until Spike's here."

Giles peered at her. "There is no need to…"

Buffy whirled. "We. Wait." Her tone brooked no discussion.

Lydia tried not to gape at her insolence. Slayers did not talk to their Watchers this way; they took orders, they did not give them. Her jaw dropped despite her attempts to restrain it when Mr. Giles simply nodded in acquiescence.

"If you think it best." He glanced at Lydia, seeming to read her thoughts with alarming clarity. "You will learn that being their Watcher comes secondary to being their friend," he said.

"God Giles, 'friend'?" Buffy questioned. "That doesn't... It's not even..." She turned to Lydia. "Giles is the nearest thing to a father I've ever had. Only better. He even gave me away at my wedding."

Lydia stared at him, this time more appalled than awed. "Good Lord, man, even with your level of knowledge and training, you actually condone a union between a vampire and a Slayer?"

"Egad, how awful!" Giles gasped and held up his hands in mock horror. "Whatever shall we do? Oh, the humanity!" He dropped the act and gave Buffy an indulgent smile. "In the end, it was more a case of how could I not."

"Buffy and Spike are kinda special," Willow said. "They were all prophesized and ordained and stuff."

Lydia was reduced to a dazed stammer. This was informational overload. "B-but our Academics have given no indication…"

"Oh, I'm quite sure they haven't." Giles chuckled to himself, removing his glasses and cleaning the lenses with his handkerchief. "Not in this dimension at least."

There was a tremendous crashing noise from the rear of the house and Spike came bounding into the room, Seth clinging to his shoulders like a limpet.

Buffy regarded them despairingly. "How many times have I told you guys not to storm the back door like that?"

"Seven hundred million?" Seth guessed.

"Pretty darn close."

"But it's really cool!" the boy bubbled on enthusiastically. "Spike can run s-o-o-o fast!" He pushed the skin of his cheeks back with both hands to indicate the G-force. "Like '_whoosh_'! Uncle Xan can't run that fast. Him and Butt can bloody eat our dust!"

"Language, Nip," Spike chided softly, letting the boy slide off his back.

"Oh right," Seth nodded. "Not in frunna the m-o-m."

"Not _ever_," Buffy corrected. "Spike, how are we supposed to teach him anything when you keep…?" She sighed. "Never mind. I'm not getting into this with you now. Did Xander take Anya and Buck home?"

"After a fashion," Spike said enigmatically. He quirked a brow at Buffy, who stared at him for a moment, before giggling hysterically.

"Oh God," she wheezed. "I wish I could have seen that!"

"Just did." Spike draped a companionable arm over Nip's shoulder. "Appears that the party's over, mate. Ready for a lie down?"

"No naps," Seth said. "'Member? You said I was too big now." He held up one hand, all the fingers splayed out. "Five," he stressed, as though speaking to someone incredibly dim-witted.

"Well, how about we start that rule tomorrow?" Buffy asked.

"How 'bout 'no'?" Seth folded his arms and glared up at her, something much more than mere stubbornness sparking deep in his gaze.

Spike suddenly slapped his hand across his son's eyes. He gave Buffy a long, meaning-laden look and then hoisted the protesting boy up under his arm, carrying him from the room.

"Everything alright?" Giles inquired smoothly.

"Fine," Buffy answered quickly. Too quickly. "Everything's fine. Fine and good, normal as ever." She gazed after her son. "Normal as ever," she repeated under her breath.

…TBC

A/N:   
Well, I'm off again. Don't expect the updates to be all that regular 'cause I'm still fleshing out the plotlines, but this chapter has been sitting around finished for almost three months, so I figured it should put it out there and see what you guys think _(cough REVIEW cough)._  
There's more coming, though, I promise.   
Cheers all, Dee.


	2. Dichotomy

-2-

DICHOTOMY

Spike hauled Seth into his room and set him down on the edge of the bright red four-poster with the Star Wars quilt, the 'Big Boy Bed' that they'd so proudly picked out at the furniture store only weeks earlier. He knelt down, cupped Seth's puckish face in his hands, and stared deeply into his eyes, searching.

Yeah, there they were. Vivid sparks of gold flaring behind the blue.

The vampire let out a heavy sigh, his own eyes falling shut to hide the apprehension he felt. What the hell were they supposed to do with this? Parenting books didn't cover supernatural powers.

Best way he figured was to go at the problem the same way he'd done everything else in his long life: head first.

"So, what's set off the fireworks now?"

The boy had gone unusually quiet during their journey up the stairs and now he just stared mutinously at his father, the gold sparks intensifying, spreading out to form solid rings of color around the contracted points of his pupils and completely obliterating the blue.

Spike switched to his Dad voice, harder and rife with warning. "Nip? You listenin' to me?"

Seth blinked rapidly, but the burnished gold didn't disappear, it only grew brighter and more crystalline as tears welled up. "Mommy's mean," he said finally, lower lip trembling. "I don't like her anymore."

Spike was almost glad. Par for the course, this. Familiar ground. Seth clashed with Buffy all the time.

"This just about the nap thing?" he asked. "Was my idea all along, you know. You hate me as well?"

"_You_ never wish I was different."

"Neither does your mother."

"Does too. All the time. She wishes I was like Butt."

"And how's that then?"

"Like a normal kid."

Spike frowned. "Buffy loves you just as you are, same as I do. You got that straight?"

Seth sniffled and swiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve. He gave a half-hearted little shrug. "I guess."

"Hey, she loves _me,_ and I'm not normal. No such thing in this house, isn't that right?" They stared at each other until Seth finally nodded in agreement, his eyes making the transition from bullion back to blue. Spike gave the boy a reassuring smile, ruffling his hair. "You just got to try and hold that Slayer temper of yours. No more flashing the sparklies when company's about." He got to his feet and moved toward the door. "Have a bit of a kip now, and we'll chat it out later on."

"Dad?"

Spike stopped. Seth hardly ever called him by his proper title. This was serious. "Yeah?"

"Can you show me your bumpies?"

Spike pivoted to look at him over his shoulder.

Seth had always been small for his age; a consequence of being premature, Spike supposed, and of having a couple of dimensionally-challenged parents; but right then he seemed unbearably tiny, flopped back on the bed, short legs dangling, blonde curls falling away from his high forehead as he peered up toward his father, awaiting an answer.

As he took in the picture his son presented, there was a sudden pang in his chest, his heart contracting painfully behind his ribs. The sheer magnitude of the feelings evoked by this little being never failed to set him reeling. There was no greater love in his life, not even for Buffy.

He had to thrust aside the overwhelming desire to just blockade the door, lock and bolt it and throw away the key; anything to keep the cruel old world away from his boy, to protect him for just a little while longer. He took a deep breath to steady himself, absentmindedly pressing his left hand to his breastbone, and exhaled the next question.

"Why?"

"I jus' wanna see."

Spike hesitated. He hardly ever made the full transformation these days, and found it uncomfortable when he did. Flashing the fangs was as far as he usually got, and because of that Seth had really only seen his true features once or twice. After concentrating for a bit, he managed to go full game face for a few seconds, then immediately changed back.

__

Bugger all, now he was going to have a headache for the rest of the night. He rubbed his forehead where the brow ridges had been. "Good enough?"

Seth rolled onto his stomach; firm little chin resting in the back of his folded hands. "Will I get pointy teeth too? After my baby ones fall out 'n' stuff?"

Spike frowned and leant against the doorframe. This wasn't some spur-of-the-moment Q and A, something had upset the boy.

"Where's all this coming from, Nip? Something happen?"

Seth grimaced as if anticipating a blow. "I kinda broke my present."

"How'd you break a metal scooter?"

"Dunno. I was just ridin' it an' I pulled the handlebars an' they came off."

"Probably wasn't screwed together right."

"Nah. It's broke. I busted it." Seth pushed one finger along his quilt, tracing the outline of Obi-Wan Kenobi's light saber, not wanting to meet his father's eyes. "Butt freaked."

"Butt would," Spike snorted. "Boy's got Harris genes, after all." He tipped his head to one side and regarded his son speculatively. "You, on the other hand may have more of you mother in you than we anticipated. No worries, though, mind. We'll get it figured out."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

-x-

Buffy had been pacing again by the time Spike made it back downstairs. The moment she felt his approach she marched straight to his side, grabbed his arm and dragged him across the hall to the dining room, away from prying eyes. Secret linky conversations were all well and good, but they often tended to give themselves away through body language.

Spike eyed the hand around his biceps with interest. "Haven't time for any rough n' tumble, love," he drawled, gesturing back to where they'd come from. "Visitors and whatnot."

She ignored the innuendo, sending rapid fire through the link. "He did it again, didn't he?"

"Yeah." Spike was instantly serious, bowing his head. "Yeah, he did."

Buffy absently reached up and began massaging his temples in an attempt to ease the ache brought on by the vamp demo upstairs. "We're gonna have to tell someone, you know that right? We can't keep making with the hush-hush-and-bolt routine."

"Hmmm." He leant into her touch like a big cat, blue eyes slitted in pleasure. "Have to do it soon, too. Been happening a lot more often of late. Not to mention certain other developments."

"Yeah. I got that part. And why's he getting the super-duper strength now? And today?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." The corner of his mouth quirked in a tiny smile. "More than likely the same as mine."

"Maybe he inherited my sadly deficient birthday genes. Whichever way, it can't be a coincidence, not in Sunnydale. Plus, he's supposed to be starting school… _Ugh_!" She sagged forward, butting her head repeatedly into his chest like a mutinous sheep. "Crap. Crap. Crap."

Spike brought his hands up to rest supportively on her shoulders, thumbs stroking along her prominent collarbones. "Hey now, none of that."

She rambled on regardless. "Oh God, we'll have to tutor him here at home won't we, or he'll be beating up the other kids and breaking bones and stuff?" She lifted her chin a fraction, pinning him with huge panicked eyes. "I can't teach him, Spike. He doesn't even listen to me when I tell him to pick up his toys."

Spike smirked. "He listens to me. I'll do it."

"So not the point."

"Buffy…"

"I hate this, you know," she whispered mournfully. "I hate that he's going to grow up something other than normal. I wanted him to have a normal life."

"Since it worked out so well for you, you mean?"

She pouted at his sarcastic tone. "Again with the point missing."

He brushed her hair away from her face with a tender touch. "I'm just sayin' there's no point in gettin' your knickers all twisted," he said softly. "It's not the same for him as it was for you and me. Seth was born to it. He didn't have the chosen gig thrust on him when he least expected it, bollocksing up the status quo. Odds are it'll turn out different."

"I suppose."

"Look, I'm just gonna tell you the same thing I told the Nip. We'll get it figured out. We always do."

"Promise?"

Spike shook his head in silent amusement. _His wife and kid were so much alike sometimes…_ He leant in to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Promise."

-x-

There had been some sort of furtive conversation underway while they'd been gone, but the moment Buffy and Spike came back into the lounge, there was a tense lull, like the very room was holding its breath. Willow seemed particularly guilty.

"What's going on?" Buffy asked, folding her arms self-consciously.

"Precisely what we were wondering," Giles said. "There seem to be some… undercurrents occurring. Pertinent information you'd like to share with the rest of us, perhaps?"

Spike frowned, not liking that the Watcher was being so perceptive. He could sense Buffy's unease underscoring his own and it was making him twitchy. Even though they'd just discussed revealing the truth about Seth's abilities, they'd managed to keep the secret from the Scoobies for so long now that they were immediately on the defensive.

"Nothin' to share," he said quickly. "We're just a bit concerned about having a proper Watcher on the premises. Never know what they're of a mind to do."

Buffy elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey, Giles is a proper Watcher."

"Actually, he isn't at all," Lydia put in. "Strictly speaking, you're a rogue Slayer, operating without Council guidance."

"Oh-ho," Spike chortled. "Rogue Slayer. Like the sound of that. Makes you sound all dangerous, pet."

Giles snorted.

"_Faith _was the rogue Slayer," Buffy said firmly. "Fighting on the mean streets of L.A. with Angel and the gang. _I've_ been the settled-down, stay at home-sweet-home on the Hellmouth Slayer."

"True," Lydia acknowledged. "But that doesn't explain why you've neglected to maintain contact…"

"Who's the neglected one here? It wasn't me being all avoidy after Giles got fired and Wesley's Watcher career went so spectacularly down the toilet. Not to mention the whole trying to have Faith and me killed a few years back."

Lydia grimaced. "I believe that Mr. Travers apologized for-"

"No. He didn't. Did he?" Buffy glanced at Giles. "I don't remember any 'sorry I tried to have you exterminated like a pesky bug' cards. Not even a gift basket."

"There was no apology," Giles said matter-of-factly. "He would have believed it beneath him. Quentin Travers was a megalomaniacal little weasel of a man, he wouldn't have admitted to any such wrong-doing."

"That megalomaniacal little weasel was my _father_," Lydia objected. She tried to sound offended, but knew that she hadn't quite pulled it off. They were right; he really had been rather insufferable.

Spike's face screwed up in distaste. "My condolences."

"I knew something was funky about her," Buffy relayed to him via the link. "This so explains the immediate hating of her guts."

"Thought that was because she had an eye toward jumpin' these sexy vampire bones, Little Miss Jealous."

"Oh please! I am not jealous. I just…" She hesitated as Spike slowly angled his head to one side, quirking his brows at her, and then folded her arms huffily. "Shut up."

He grinned.

"You just keep in mind that it's _Mrs._ Jealous now, Flirt Boy."

"Wouldn't dream of forgetting. Taken quite a fancy this whole 'existing' gig."

Giles, meanwhile, was regarding the English woman with a new respect. "Ah yes, Lydia Travers, of course. A former potential. When you weren't called, you married Dr. Peter Sherwood, the eminent demonologist. I re-read his treatise on vampire physiology only last week. It's been quite helpful on a number of occasions. Is he still studying?"

"Actually, Peter has just taken over father's place as Head Watcher." Lydia gave him an embarrassed little smile. "And we're divorced now."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Lydia flattened her hands on the portfolio in her lap. "Now, I believe we have some business to discuss."

Buffy sighed. "Right. A prophecy you said. Something to do with the new Slayer?"

"As I tried to say earlier, the Council's Academics have discovered a prophecy that they believe pertains to my Slayer." Lydia opened a folder and pulled out a Xeroxed copy of some archaic glyphs. "It relates to someone called the Aurora Prodigy, who will apparently end dimensional discord by sealing the Hellmouth forever."

Giles held out a hand. "May I?" Lydia passed the sheet to him and he squinted intently at the black-and-white print. "Where was this found?"

"Originally in the third volume of the Ersatz Journals, and then cross-referenced in Vandershulster's Prognostic Compendium."

Giles' brows shot up. "Vandershulster? Impressive."

"Indeed."

Buffy scowled at them. "So, for those of us not up on their moldy-book-speak, this concerns us how? I mean, I'm all for shutting up shop on the Hellmouth biz, but if that's not my responsibility then…"

"My proposal is rather boring I'm afraid," Lydia said. "You are the local experts on the Hellmouth and its culture and I would merely like to ask for your input regarding the gateway itself. For tactical purposes. I understand that you've been inside?"

"More than once," Buffy admitted, relieved that they'd apparently only be taking an advisory role in this undertaking. It wasn't like they didn't have other stuff to deal with right now. Having a new Slayer around might prove to have some side benefits. "We get a pretty regular stream of demon traffic through there. They have festivals and stuff, try to open portals. It's like Demon-palooza, but without the loud, over-rated music part."

"Hey," Spike protested. "What about those Scorn Brethren blokes last year? They had a bloody ripping guitarist. Put Hendrix to shame."

"Well okay, except for them. Much coolness to be had there. Indigo Scorn even gave me an autographed CD after we vaporized all those creepy salamander thingies."

"Elemander," he corrected. "More legs than the regular variety."

"And really big ears. But we're not due for another crowd until… when? Giles?" She clicked her fingers trying to get his attention. "Fill in blank please."

Spike sniffed when the man's focus refused to waver from the sheet of paper he was perusing. "Proper Watcher," he muttered under his breath, then, "_Giles!"_

The other man finally glanced up. "What? Oh, er… the Fall Equinox, I believe."

"Oh, that's a big one," Willow commented. "There are a lot of spells that are really potent around then."

Lydia pressed her lips together tightly. "And it's precisely when the Aurora Prodigy is supposed to make her move."

The redhead frowned. "What makes you so sure that it's a her? And that it's, you know, _your_ her?"

"The word 'prodigy' has several different meanings," Lydia reported. "Someone young, an omen, a champion or wise person. An expert in a particular field. But it is the aforementioned 'Aurora' that is the true indication of who this prophecy pertains to. My Slayer? Her name is Dawn."

-x-

Willow kept a careful eye on Lydia.

She was trying to be stealthy about it, but she'd never really been all that big on the stealth - _not her specialty, sorry_ - and she could tell that she was beginning to make the other woman nervous. More nervous, anyway. She was already on edge and acting fishy.

Case in point: in the ten minutes since Lydia had phoned to contact her Slayer and tell her to come over, she'd done nothing but stare at Spike and Buffy.

Well, mostly she stared at Spike. That wasn't an unusual occurrence in itself, a lot of visitors, especially female ones, made with the Spike-staring, but there was something not quite right about the depth of this one's interest. It was almost like she was evaluating him somehow. And she was making a whole lotta notes…

Lydia suddenly glanced up and met her eyes, and Willow's attention skipped furtively to the depths of her coffee mug. _Wow, look at that. Almost empty._

Not that the mug actually contained any coffee. After all these years it still made her too jumpy, even decaf. Not that she needed any help in the jumpiness department at the moment either.

When Tara had left, needing to get an early start in the morning, she had whispered some reservations about the Watcher in Willow's ear on the way out the door, telling her to keep an eye out. And if Tara was gettin' a wiggins, then…

"Am I bothering you?"

Lydia's voice, all snooty, disdainful tones, broke in on the witch's meditations like a splash of cold water.

"What? No. N-no. I'm fine." Willow blinked, pinning on her best innocent face. "Are you…fine?"

"Why, yes. Yes, I am. Thank you for asking."

They stared at each other for a minute, sizing each other up. Lydia cast a cautious glance over her shoulder to where Buffy and Spike were talking to Giles by the stairs, and then leant forward conspiratorially.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me your version of how this entire situation came to pass."

"What situation?"

"With the Slayer and her… husband." Lydia adjusted her glasses, settling them more securely on her patrician nose. "He's really quite a unique specimen."

"Spike's not unique." Willow stopped, struck by the blatant wrongness of that statement, and gave a nervous little titter. "Well, yeah he is. I mean, obvious right? Living, breathing vampire? But - but I wouldn't be so kind as to tell you anything. At all. That would be so far out of line, you couldn't even see the line anymore. And besides that, it's just not my place. I have no place. I'm completely place-less."

Lydia ignored the babble-fest and sighed, absently tapping her pen against her notebook while she went on gazing moony-eyed at Spike. It was really starting to get on Willow's nerves. Before she could make any comment, though, the blonde turned back.

"They're keeping a secret of some sort."

"A secret? No. No, they're not. They… wouldn't…" Her voice trailed off.

Except maybe they would. They _had_ been acting sort of skittish, she'd said so herself just a little while ago. But if there was something going on, she'd have to suss it out on her own, without getting the Watcher involved. Discretion was the key word here.

"I've been observing them quite closely," Lydia went on. "The signs are all there."

Willow shook her head. "Sorry. Not seeing any signage."

Lydia shrugged. "I could be wrong. You would know much better than I."

"Yeah. I would."

And she did.

-x-

Dawn Wells was not what Spike had expected - all long coltish limbs and flowing sable hair, with eyes bluer than the summer sky. Pretty. And young too; so very, very young - fifteen years old. He had difficulty wrapping his head around the fact that Buffy had been the same age when she'd been called.

She was also the barest smidgen taller than he, a fact that she'd had no compunction at all in drawing to his attention.

He'd tried the intimidation thing right off, testing her waters. The moment she'd walked into the house he'd given her the most wicked smile in his repertoire, flashing a bit of fang. "How about giving us a taste then, love? Bit of a nibble?"

She'd just looked down her nose at him with that patented adolescent disdain. "I'd like to see you try."

"Do a damn sight better than try. Done your kind before."

"Oh please, I could totally wipe the floor with your stunted little ass."

She gave as good as she got. He liked her.

Not that he was in any way considering upgrading his own Slayer for the newer model.

He smirked to himself as Buffy's mouth dropped open in response to the thought.

She punched him on the arm. "Pig."

"Oink, oink."

"God, you're so weird." Dawn crossed her arms and gave the older Slayer a contemptuous look. "I can't believe you married a vampire. What a freak."

Buffy stared back at her, stone-faced. "I am not a freak. I'm a total freak-free zone. Spike's the one with the Slayer fetish."

"Uh huh. So it's really that you're _both_ freaks?"

"That is _not_ what I…" She glowered. "Okay, shut up."

Dawn just smiled maliciously. "I hear you've got a kid, too. How'd that happen?"

Spike gave her willowy figure a slow once over, tongue snaking across his teeth. "Figured you were green, Nibblet," he purred. "Didn't realize you were _that _green."

When the young Slayer flushed a furious shade of crimson and nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other, he smiled. _Gotcha._

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Great, more nicknames. That'll help."

Dawn straightened, back on the defensive. "Yeah. What's up with that?"

Spike put on his best kicked-puppy face, playing to his audience. "You don't like it?"

The younger Slayer shrugged.

"Better get used to it," Buffy told her. "Once he christens you, you're kinda stuck with it. Took him forever to start calling me by my proper name. He only used my title. Still does sometimes, when he's asking for a smack down."

Spike leered. "Is that right? Sla-a-y-e-r-r." He drew the word out tauntingly.

Buffy made to punch him again but he scuttled sideways out of reach and then swept her legs out from under her, only to catch her in his arms as she fell. She boxed his ears and rolled, crawling away, booted feet scrambling for purchase on the polished floorboards. He dived after her, but it was plain from the uncontrollable giggling that he wasn't intent on inflicting any real harm.

Dawn watched them, almost overwhelmed with the sense of _belonging_.

They were still weird – and sort of violent - but they were also cool. In a not-overly-embarrassing older brother/sister sense. And unlike the losers back home, they didn't treat her like she was Bizarro Girl. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.

She tensed, immediately on the alert as Lydia rushed into the room. "Big trouble in Watcherville?"

Lydia blinked at her, as though trying to decipher her complicated teen-speak. "Oh. Er, no. It's nothing of consequence, I was just wondering what the commotion was."

Dawn gestured toward Buffy and Spike, who had ended up in a twisted, pretzel-like wrestling-hold on the couch. "Ask the freaks. They started it."

"Manners please, Dawn. You're a guest in their home."

"You heard her, Nibblet," Spike interjected, struggling to sit up. "Be polite."

Buffy rammed an elbow into his stomach, earning a pained grunt. "Oh. Sorry, honey." She clambered to her feet and peered down at him, an exaggeratedly saccharine smile on her face.

He scowled back, brows furrowing together, darkened eyes boring into hers.

Buffy gasped and kicked him in the shin.

Dawn got the feeling that the battle was still underway even though neither was speaking. It was… freaky.

"Freaks," she muttered again, but this time she didn't hold back the smile.

…TBC


	3. Contact

-3-

CONTACT

Lydia glanced up from her notebook, pen poised above the page. "So, you were actually associated for several years prior to your... um, _romantic_ involvement?"

"Yup."

While Lydia was scribbling fanatically, Buffy looked anything but interested, gazing longingly toward the front door of the Magic Box. They'd agreed to this interview in exchange for Lydia keeping the remainder of the Council off their backs, but as far as Buffy was concerned, the whole thing was totally ridiculous. She didn't see why they had to make with the 'splainy.

Spike was taking his sweet time getting there to bail her out, too. He was on his way. She could sense him prowling along Main Street, that smooth, lupine stride drawing the admiring eyes of males and females alike. She hunched her shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling of their hungry gazes tickling her spine. It was creepy.

_Stupid vampire, being all attractive in public.___

Buffy turned her attention back to her immediate surroundings. The Magic Box hadn't changed in forever. The store had come to be a second home to them all over the years, the training room even had a corner set aside as a play area for the kids. Seth and Buck were back there now, the occasional thump and pattering of running feet reassuring her of their presence.

She continued to ignore Lydia's attempted interrogation in favor of watching the familiar scene of Giles and Anya arguing behind the counter. She smiled as Anya whacked Giles with her feather duster and made a good show of storming away in huff despite her condition. Honestly, if Xander and the ex-demon hadn't been so tight, Buffy was certain something would have happened between those two. Sparks practically flew when they were together.

She sighed. And Lydia was _still_ babbling away at her.

"Look, can't this wait for a minute? Spike's better at the answering-annoying-questions thing than I am. Better at all things annoying, really."

Lydia blinked; her spectacles having the unfortunate effect of making her dark blue eyes look owlish. "Are you saying Spike is...?"

"Turning the corner, taking a minute to fix his hair in the window, and -" Buffy swept a hand toward the doorway just as her husband sauntered in, jangling the bell.

Lydia had seen him in passing a number of times since that first night a week ago, but she still gasped aloud when she saw him, struck anew by his sheer physical presence. The man was quite simply magnificent, even more so in the bright Californian sunlight which set his figure aglow like that of a High Renaissance saint.

Almost in defiance of that comparison, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt; both ominously black, both clinging to his form like a second skin, and overlaid by a long leather coat, a garment peculiarly at odds with the warmth of the day.

Buffy let out a heavy, martyred sigh. "Oh, God help us. It's the Big Bad."

He bestowed them with the most sinful smirk. "You'd better believe it, baby."

A snort came from behind the counter. "I'm afraid points must be deducted for unnecessary alliteration," Giles said.

Spike frowned, turning to glare at him. "Shut it, Rupert. Or I'll have your guts for garters."

"_Not _scary, honey," Buffy chipped in. "You should quit while you're still behind."

"Wha-? But, but you said… He's…" Spike's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Forget it. Damned conspiracy is what it is," he muttered. "'Oh, let's all make the vampire look like a prat'."

"You do that well enough on your own." Giles shook his head and went back to his inventory taking.

Anya rounded the corner on her way back from the reading nook, only to stop dead and give him a confused once over. "Why are you wearing that? It's not Halloween yet."

Buffy snickered. "Halloween!"

Spike shot her an irritated look back over his shoulder. "Mouthy little chit today, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she countered. "But you love that about me."

"Well, you got me there."

"Seriously," Anya went on. "Why are you wearing that?"

He ducked his head, sheepishly scuffing the toe of his boot against the tiled floor. "I was just, I dunno…"

"Feeling nostalgic?" Buffy prompted. "Having some particularly vivid flashbacks?"

"Wanting to rip the Slayer's bloody throat out, once and for all?" Spike whipped around and snarled at her, his coat flaring out dramatically, eyes blazing amber fire.

This time Lydia's gasp was one of alarm, she fumbled amongst her books for a crucifix, her face ashen.

Buffy just smiled, resting her chin on one hand and coyly batting her lashes. "O-o-h, kinky!"

Anya sniffed. "You can't play your lame sex games in the store during business hours." She stroked her pronounced belly suggestively. "Though, I do think that Texas here was conceived during a strenuous _after_ _hours_ workout right there on the study table."

Lydia lurched backward, tipping over her chair in her rush to get away from said table, both her crucifix-hunt and her dignity abandoned.

Buffy, used to the ex-demon's plain speaking, was just curious. "Texas?"

"As in the state I'm currently the size of," Anya told her. "I think the name has potential."

"Texas Harris?" Spike asked, skeptical. "Dun't exactly roll trippingly off the tongue, love."

"But it's a start." Anya said. "Xander and I have done nothing but argue about this one's name for months."

Buffy nodded. "Been there…"

"…Done that," Spike finished. "Came out alright in the end."

Anya smiled brightly and then took a sharp right turn in the conversation. "Are you playing those kinky sex games in an attempt to conceive another baby?" she asked, without warning. "I wouldn't wait too much longer if I were you. Spike's very old, his sperm might run out of juice."

A fleeting look of horror passed across Spike's face before he slowly shook his head. "Uh, no. No. First one's proving to be enough of a handful, thanks all the same. Not," he defended sternly, "that there's anything wrong with my ju… uh, my stuff. Fully charged up here."

"You can't know that for certain. Maybe Seth was a fluke. Maybe you just had the one shot, like in those spy movies Xander watches. You know, where a bomb's about to go off or something and the hero's got to make the lucky shot before the big ticking clock runs out, and he's only got one bullet left in the clip. You know, like that."

"Trust me, Anyanka, it's nothing at all like that."

Anya looked dubious. "Whatever. Either way, I'm proving to be much more fertile than Buffy."

"Oh, for…" Spike grit his teeth in frustration. "It's not a bloody competition."

"Sure it is. You've never heard of something called 'the human race'?" She patted her stomach smugly. "I'm being the most productive so I'm ahead of the game." She punched a fist in the air. "We're number one!"

"Think you're missing the point."

"Sore losers."

With that, Anya turned and headed off toward the training room to check on the children.

Spike and Buffy exchanged baffled looks, then shrugged and simultaneously turned back toward Lydia.

"You been givin' my girl a hard time?" the vampire asked her.

"No, no. Not at all." She scrambled back to the table, gathering both her wits and her scattered notes together. "She has merely been filling me in on some of your more recent adventures. I would greatly appreciate your perspective on events."

"Share the same one, love. If you got Buffy's, you got mine." Spike ambled over, righted her fallen chair and carefully placed it behind her. "Here, have a seat."

"Oh. Thank you." Lydia sat primly and smoothed her skirt, flustered by his chivalry. _He was such a gentleman._

Buffy wrinkled her nose at him as he dropped down next to her. "Watcher's pet."

He scooted closer, that wicked smirk once again curling his lips, and tugged on a strand of her hair. Irritated, the Slayer slapped him away, tucking the loose strand behind her ear and shooting him a quelling glance.

Undeterred by the rebuke, Spike narrowed his eyes, contemplating. He reached out and retraced the errant strand of gold, his fingertip feathering the shell of her ear, tickling.

Buffy hunched her shoulder in defense, foiling his dastardly plan of attack, and bared her teeth in a 'not now you idiot' warning.

He grinned, eyes twinkling as though he was the only one who knew the punch-line to some unspoken joke. After a beat, she rounded on him with the most outraged expression on her face, but his only response was to tilt his head ever so slightly to one side as their gazes locked and held.

Silence descended, broken only by the occasional thud or shout from the other roomthe air thickening with the same oppressive force that Lydia had experienced before. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, feeling very much like a fifth wheel.

A long, long minute passed before Spike finally sat back, letting out a deep rumbling growl, not unlike that of a satisfied tiger.

Buffy continued to gaze him with heavy-lidded eyes. "You're evil."

"Always."

Lydia sighed, hardening her resolve against the pull Spike exerted on her senses. As captivating as the man was, there was no doubting that he was utterly devoted to his wife, and she was being of no use to anyone just sitting there seething with envy, she had a job to do.

"I believe I was just witness to a demonstration of your psychic connection," she said. "Would you care to explain in further detail?"

"Pfft. Details, schmetails," Buffy muttered, staring off into space again. Spike was there now, he could deal. "Blah, blah, _gag_."

"Should be asking Rupes for a gander at his diaries," he suggested, blithely ignoring his wife's running commentary, both spoken and unspoken. "Believe he's more an expert on the subject than we are."

Lydia twitched, stealing a quick look toward the counter. She didn't really want to approach the other Watcher, he unsettled her. The man was a rebel, pure and simple. It was a dangerous business, associating with rebels, one tended to get pulled into their nefarious schemes. "I suppose I might ask..."

"Well, there you go," Buffy said cheerfully. "Interview over." She slapped both hands onto the table and stood up. "Can we go now?" Spike merely glanced up at her from the corner of his eye and she slumped back onto her chair. "Fine. I'll stay. But I want it to go on the record that I think this blows. Big time."

Spike's face stayed blank, but some indication of what he was thinking must have passed through to the Slayer. She pulled a thin, poorly-whittled stake from one of her pockets and brandished it under his nose.

"You're asking for it, buddy."

"Well, well. Look at this." He smiled, snatching hold of her wrist and eyeing the stake with a curious lack of concern. "Haven't merited the wrath of Mr. Pointy for a good long while. What is it you're expecting him to do exactly?"

"Make a really painful dent?" Buffy speculated, then blinked, looking faintly confused. "Huh. That's weird. I haven't threatened you with a dusting for years. Must be the coat. Brings back the good old days when those threats held water." She frowned as she tucked the stake away. "Can a threat hold water? What does that saying even mean anyway? Stupid English language."

Lydia barely restrained herself from commenting on the twisted path the Slayer's thought processes must have taken for her wind up at that point. "You name your stakes?"

Spike came over all earnest. "Oh, yeah. She's got a virtual community of 'em at home." He leant forward. "They speak to her, you know," he confided, sotto voce.

"They do not!" Buffy slapped at his leather-clad arm in an affronted display that was a good deal more girlish than Slayerish. "Where do you get off making me sound like Dru?"

The vampire leered, lasciviousness turned up to eleven. "Anywhere I want, baby."

Buffy rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

Lydia startled as Giles suddenly appeared at the table. She'd been too engrossed in the by-play to notice his approach.

He watched the duo for a moment, arms folded, then graced her with a small, sympathetic smile. "I did warn you."

He had. He'd scoffed quite openly at her suggestion of an interview, predicting that the exercise would disintegrate into an argument within minutes. She hadn't believed him. In her experience, a long-term relationship simply couldn't sustain that level of passionate intensity without burning itself out.

She focused back on the Slayer and vampire, now engaged in a high-spirited clash over this Dru person. _Apparently, her experience had been wrong. How typical._ She wrote the name in the margin of her notebook and squiggled a question mark next to it; something else to investigate.

Giles leant over her shoulder, tapping a long finger against the page. "I have several journals dedicated to Drusilla alone," he murmured. "You're quite welcome to them. As well as those other diaries Spike mentioned, of course."

Lydia squeaked, her attempt at expressing gratitude for his offer caught in her suddenly too-dry throat. He merely smiled again, gave her a nod, and wandered off toward the back room.

Buffy and Spike continued their little verbal scuffle, oblivious.

"Stop. Saying. That!" the vampire was hissing from between clenched teeth. "She's not crazy anymore!"

"Sure, okay. 'Cause a short stretch with a re-installed conscience so makes up for a hundred years of looping-the-mental-loop."

"God! Would you just let it go? You don't see me endlessly bagging on your idiotic chain of exes..." He paused to reconsider that in light of Buffy's incredulous stare. "Right. Point taken. Still, at least I'm creative about it. None of this one-note harping."

"Uh huh." The Slayer began ticking off items on her fingers. "Angel's forehead, Angel's hair, Angel's brooding…"

"That's different. A lot of history between us, you know that. Blubbering poof deserves it."

"Riley's cardboardiness, Parker's… stupid Parkerness…"

Spike slouched in his seat, pouting adorably. "Fine. Be that way."

Buffy studied him for a moment, surprised by the unexpected capitulation. "Awww. Did poor widdle Spikey have his feelings hurt?"

"Shut up."

She leant over and trailed a teasing finger across that petulant lower lip. "Make me," she crooned, and then squealed in delight when he seized her around the waist and hauled her into his lap. She sat frozen for a moment, gasping for breath, caught in the seductive allure of his blue, blue eyes. "Okay, that works."

"Mmmm..." Spike's focus dropped to her mouth. Just as he was leaning in to steal a kiss, Giles returned from the back room, two small boys in tow.

"Please stop that," the Watcher said mildly as he passed the table.

Seth and Buck stopped on the same dime and gawked at the adults.

Lydia smiled at them encouragingly. "Hello, children."

She was particularly fascinated with the Grey boy. No one had yet seen fit to explain to her the circumstances behind his existence. There was no precedent for anything of this sort occurring elsewhere, but the child of a Slayer and a vampire must have some special qualities, surely?

She looked hard at the lad as he climbed onto the chair immediately to her right, kneeling on the seat and propping his elbows on the table. The family resemblance was really quite strong when in such close proximity. "My, you really have your father's eyes, don't you?"

Seth frowned at her, confused by the remark. "No. These are my eyes. Spike has his own."

Spike squeezed the aforementioned features shut, leaning his forehead into Buffy's shoulder and shaking with silent laughter.

The Slayer grinned widely. "Lydia just means that you look a lot like your Dad," she explained.

"Oh." Seth shared an eye-rolling 'check out the dumb old lady' look with Buck, who stood silently next to his friend's chair, chewing on his thumbnail.

Buffy reached out and ran her fingers through Buck's scruffy crop of dark hair, brushing it away from his eyes. It was astonishing to think that two garrulous people like Xander and Anya had produced such a quiet kid, but he'd never been one to draw attention to himself, quite content to hang back and follow Seth's lead. Buffy'd always had a soft spot for the solemn four-year-old, for as much as he resembled his father, he reminded her a great deal of Angel.

"How ya doin', Mister Buck?"

"'Kay," he mumbled around his thumb.

"That's good." Buffy slid off Spike's lap, smacking his hand away when it lingered on the backside of her jeans, and settled back into her own seat to continue the conversation. "So, I hear you're gonna be a big brother soon?"

"Yeah."

Seth ignored them and flipped open one of the larger volumes Lydia had piled on the table, wondering if it had monsters in it. Poppy G had some really cool monster books.

Lydia made an abortive movement, almost like she wanted to snatch it out of his hands. "That's, um, that's a very old book," she said carefully.

"How old?"

"Very, very old."

"Like Angel, you mean," Seth asserted with every last bit of his five-year-old aplomb.

Lydia gnawed at her lip. _Angel, Angel… Surely he couldn't mean…_ "Angelus?"

Spike lay a hand on the tabletop, stretching across to steal the book from his son's possession and put it to one side.

Seth scowled at him, and was rewarded with the pointed arching of his father's scarred brow. The boy sat back on his heels, sulking.

Battle of wills won, the vampire turned back to Lydia. "He goes by Angel these days, pet. The great ponce is a white hat now, all souled up and such."

"Back in London, during my training, I'd heard rumors of a vampire with a soul, but I dismissed them as fairytales."

Buffy looked over, shaking her head in disbelief. "Jeez. I thought the stuffed shirt convention were bad enough with their Slayers but boy, did they ever keep you in the dark. Angel's had a soul for… what, a century now?"

"Johnny-come-lately," Spike sneered.

Lydia blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothin'."

"Spike's gotta soul," Buck announced, wiping his sticky fingers on the front of his T-shirt. "Daddy says so." Evidently his word was gospel.

_Yeah, like Daddy's a genius,_ Spike thought mockingly, then instantly regretted it when he received a scathing glare from his beloved. "What?"

"There will be no dissing of Xander," she said tightly.

"Since when?"

"Since the embargo on Dru-invective. If I can't, you can't."

"Hey, that's unfair, now!"

Lydia peered from one face to the next, finding a complete lack of interest in these world-shattering revelations. "I'm terribly sorry, but did young Master Harris just say that you..."

"…Have a soul?" Buffy supplied. "You're darn skippy. Always did, always will."

"That's impossible!"

"Is not," the Slayer shot back. Lydia remained steadfast. "Okay, looks like its story-time after all. Remember that 'rather human' thing we talked about, with the fully-functioning? That's because of the soul. See, what happened was Dru and Angel screwed up when they turned him, and it was like he had all these… _parts_ left behind. Souly, feeling-stuff type parts. And then, when we got linked, I gave him back all his missing… parts." She nodded, pleased with the explanation. "It was a whole big part party."

Lydia was less pleased. "I'm sorry, I'm confused."

"Join the club," Spike mumbled. "Share the same thoughts and I still can fathom where she's comin' from half the time."

Giles returned and dumped a high stack of books onto the table. Smallish, thick and sporting matching red bindings, they looked like a scaled-down set of encyclopedia. He slapped a hand on the uppermost volume to keep the pile from toppling over. "A little light reading should clear things up. I regret that this didn't occur to me earlier."

Buffy goggled at the collection. "God, Giles. Over-inscribe much?"

"There are many years worth of Slaying stories here, Buffy. Including a great deal I didn't inform the Council of."

Lydia frowned. "You've knowingly withheld information from us?"

"Oh no, it was entirely by accident," he responded dryly.

She blinked at him in consternation, before returning her stare to the pile of books.

"I _knew_ this interview deal was bogus," the Slayer accused, wagging a finger at him. "You were making us dish the dirt while you went on withholding from your fellow Watcher-people. Giles, shame on you!"

He winced. "Ah, yes, well... Uh, speaking of information, Buffy, I - I'd like a word with you before you leave."

Buffy's brow knitted with concern. "Am I in trouble now? Because I was only kidding with the shame thing, okay? Actually, you know, that wasn't me at all. It was Spike. Spike thought it. It's Spike's fault."

"Yeah, yeah, blame me. I enjoy it." Spike planted a booted foot against the table and pushed back, his chair rocking alarmingly on two legs. "'Specially if there's to be some sort of punishment involved. Whips, chains…" He made an oddly suggestive sawing movement with his jaw, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "All nostalgic for a Spike in your bathtub, old man?"

"Don't be daft."

"Right. No chains. Just the whipping then? Pity."

"Spike, do shut up. There's no bother, really. Merely a private matter I'd like to discuss."

"Sounds almost interesting." Spike's chair returned to the floor with a bang. "Didn't know you had a private life, Rupert."

Giles seemed uncharacteristically perturbed by the observation. His gaze darted toward his co-worker before he snatched off his glasses and began scouring the lenses, avoiding everyone's eyes. "I do have interests outside the store, you know," he grumbled.

"This about your top secret singing career then?"

Giles replaced his glasses and glared at the vampire. "No. It is not. And I will have no more cheek from you, understand? Honestly, as soon as that dratted coat comes out of storage, you revert straight back to your old ways."

"That's so not true," Buffy said. "Spike's _always_ this annoying and you know it. No reverting necessary." She aimed a wink at the children. "Right, guys?"

"Right!"

Lydia finally dragged her attention away from the swaying stack of Slayer lore, and regarded its author with utter disbelief. "You sing?"

-x-

An hour later, Buffy flumped into the empty seat on Giles' right-hand side. "Okay, Spike's taken the kids home, Lydia's gone off to blind herself interpreting your teeny tiny Watcher scrawl, and Anya's lost in the untold joys of Money-Counting-Land. We are, for all intents and purposes, alone." She rested folded arms on the table and nudged him with her elbow. "So, what's up with the privacy clause on this convo? 'Cause you do get that Spike's gonna pick up the gist of it anyway?"

He glanced up from his book. The same book, she now noticed, that he'd been carrying around all day. "I do realize that, yes. But I needed the others gone, Lydia and the children especially. I have some rather… delicate news."

Buffy snorted. "Do I have 'handle with care' stamped on my forehead now? Giles, I'm twenty-six years old. Married with childre- Um, _child_. You can _not_ be worried about my sensibilities at this point." She shook her head at his stricken expression. "Sorry, but high horse? Get off it. I can handle the delicate. Between Spike and the slaying gig, I was cured of any illusions a long time ago. I mean, you should see some of his history. No way I could be corrupted _more_."

"Well, I must say, while that evokes some very disturbing mental imagery, I wasn't referring to that sort of… I - I only meant that there are some important issues I need to raise. Without an audience."

Now he'd caught her attention. "For example?"

"I've discovered a more detailed translation of this so-called Slayer prophecy in the Chronicles of St. Basilisk the Smug. It puts a completely different spin on things."

"There's more detail? I thought the Council were the big experts on this stuff. Aren't they usually kinda nit-picky with their whys and wherefores."

Giles grimaced. "Yes, well. Needless to say, I don't trust their motives. And it seems for good reason. Their version is all wrong. The Latin must have been transcribed by idiots." He held out his book and pointed. "See here what is clearly the word 'aureus', and not 'aurora'." He gave Buffy a significant look. "It doesn't mean 'dawn', it means 'golden'."

"But that still doesn't have to mean…"

"It also says that this Prodigy would be a union of both good and evil," he went on as though she hadn't spoken. "The Council made this to sound as though it was a virtuous and pure being who would fight the demons, a champion of sorts, but it's much more complex than that. This person would be more of a _link_ between the two."

"Like a bridge," Buffy concluded morosely. "You can stop reciting from the big list of clarifications now, okay? I get it. My baby boy is the prophesized Messiah." She sighed. "This is so what we get for giving him a Biblical name."

"No doubt it was a pertinent factor," Giles said with deadpan dryness.

"In the immortal words of Indigo Scorn, this 'fully siphons the cosmic gas tank'." She frowned and looked back at him. "Hey, wait a minute. Wasn't Basilisk the name of that booger monster from the Font of Knowledge, the Keratos demon who may or may not have something to do with the origins of the Serpiente link?"

"Why, yes." He seemed inordinately pleased that she'd remembered. "I've been researching him on a somewhat sporadic basis over the last few years, which is why I happened to have this particular volume handy. It's all connected, Buffy, all of it."

"Yay." There was no discernable enthusiasm at all in her tone, and after a few minutes of chewing on her lower lip, she took a deep, fortifying breath. "Giles, I think I need to tell you something really important."

-x-

Taking the Nipper along on early patrol was not Spike's idea of good father/son bonding time, but for some mysterious reason Buffy had insisted, and he was nothing if not a willing slave to his Slayer. Besides, he reasoned, it was only middling dark and any real threats wouldn't be about until Buffy and Dawn took secondary around midnight.

The younger Slayer had slotted easily into their regular patrolling schedule. She was reasonably competent, despite her disturbing tendency to be clumsy with the heavier weapons; didn't have anywhere near the same flair as Buffy, of course, but she got the job done.

They strolled amiably through Restfield Cemetery, taking the well-worn path toward Spike's old crypt. The vampire was hoping that the familiarity would make the boy open up. He'd been uncannily quiet for too long, and it wasn't right for him to keep things so close to his chest. He didn't allow Buffy to get away with it, and he was damned if he would allow his son to.

"So," he began, casting a surreptitious glance from the corner of his eye. "Got somethin' on your mind, eh?"

Seth was silent; a tiny tow-headed figure bundled in an outsized parka and a long stripy scarf, kicking sneakered feet through the grass. He shuffled along for a while longer before finally piping up. "Uncle Xan was tellin' Butt 'n' me that when you die you go up to heaven or down to hell..." His tone was questioning, seeking confirmation.

Though he knew that this wasn't the subject that was really troubling the boy, Spike nodded, going along with the diversion. "'S right. What do you think about that?"

The boy's forehead crinkled up, the same way Buffy's did when she was thinking really hard. After a long thoughtful pause, he replied, "I like it here in the middle."

Spike smiled. "Me too, mate, me too. What say we stay here for as long as we possibly can?"

"'Kay." Seth's reply was distracted as he gazed off into the distance. He stopped walking and squinted. "Oh wow. Cool."

"What?" Spike tried to make out what his son was looking at, and failed to spot anything of interest.

Seth pointed and his father followed the gesture, even going to the extreme of leaning over to sight along the outstretched arm. He shook his head and straightened, still unable to see the fascination.

"Don't know what you're on about, Nip."

The boy tipped his head appraisingly. "Can'tcha hear it neither?"

It was a well-known fact, on the Hellmouth anyway, that vampires as a whole had extremely fine-tuned auditory systems. Spike had lost none of that inherent capability with his human reversion, but right at that moment all he could pick up were his and Seth's own heartbeats. He felt as deaf as a post.

And stupid.

And _old_.

He hesitated for a moment at the thought, calculating in his head. His lean features screwed up in a horrified grimace at the realization that he'd be turning one hundred thirty within the year. Should just start calling him Methuselah. He was jarred out of his musings when Seth suddenly took off at a mad dash.

"Oi! Get back here!"

Spike tore after him. Bloody kid was almost moving at full vamp speed. That was new. Still not as fast as his old man, though. They'd not sprinted even halfway across the graveyard before Spike overtook his son, effortlessly gathering him up and clutching him tight.

"Don't you _EVER_ do that again!" he puffed, holding the little body to his chest.

Seth growled.

Spike blinked. This was also new. "Bloody hell. Did you just -?"

He held Seth up and peered at him. Sure enough, his eyes had turned a deep, dark gold. They were focused beyond him, on a nearby crypt.

Spike pivoted around to look, sensing the lone vamp lurking there even as he did. Buffy may have had a point about bringing the boy along on patrol after all. This display of his had all the hallmarks of what she called her 'spider' sense, the Slayer part of her that always knew when a vamp was in the vicinity.

Seth's powers were developing faster by the day. At this rate he was going to be more powerful than they had ever imagined, and he was going to get there a whole lot quicker. The sooner they learned to deal with it, the better.

He lowered Seth to the ground, keeping one hand on his narrow little shoulder to hold him in place, and pulled a stake from his pocket, peering from it to the vamp and back. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to see how talented the boy really was.

Seth took the decision away from him, snatching the stake, lightning fast, and then charging the vampire.

Judging by the stupefied expression on the fledgling's face, he hadn't been expecting this either. "Hey, what the…" was as far as he got before his mini-attacker leapt through the air and staked him - right through the heart in one thrust – then landed soundly on the balls of his feet, surrounded by swirling clouds of dust.

Spike pursed his lips together, hard pressed to keep from grinning from ear-to-ear, pleased as punch. _That's my boy._

_"No, Spike,"_ Buffy's voice whispered in link-speak, sounding just as proud as Spike was. She'd apparently been keeping tabs on the whole expedition. _"That's OUR boy."_

TBC…


	4. Admission

-4-

ADMISSION

The soft, almost tentative knock drew Buffy's attention away from the glossy fashion magazine on her lap. She frowned, dumped the magazine onto the coffee table, and made her way into the hall, pausing as she sensed the identity of the mysterious late-night visitor before she'd even reached the door.

_Angel. Great. Just what she needed. And a personal visit like this had to mean big news, something he couldn't tell her over the phone._

She sighed and then pulled the door open, plastering on a cheerful smile. "Hey."

The Warrior Vampire gazed at her from under a heavy, burdened brow, his broad shoulders hunched awkwardly beneath his stylish charcoal trench-coat. "Hey."

Buffy knew that he hadn't been the happiest of people since Faith died, but this was a whole other level of not-happiness. This was almost pre-Cordelia not-happiness. She grimaced. "That so doesn't look like a good news kinda face."

"How about an ambiguous news face?"

"That depends. What's ambiguous mean?" He gave her a weary look and she grinned. "Sorry, but you're way too serious. You're acting like Cursed-Angel Mark 3." She peered at him suspiciously. "You're not cursed again are you?"

"No. It's not… Um, can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." She preceded him into the lounge, ushering him magnanimously toward the sofa and then curling up in Spike's chair, tucking her legs beneath her.

Angel glanced around nervously as he sat, his eyes resting a fraction overlong on a group of family photos before returning to the Slayer. "Wes thinks he may have found something in the Pylean Trionic Ledgers," he said without further preamble. "About Seth."

She didn't even blink. "More bridge stuff?"

"Maybe, maybe not." He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together. "There's a possibility that he's in danger. Most of the new entries were found in conjunction with references to someone called the Golden One or the Golden Prodigy, but it's kind of unclear whose side he's on."

"Huh." Buffy stared down at her hands, absently picking at a hangnail on her thumb. "Hence the ambiguous."

"Yeah." Angel watched her intently. He didn't like that she was so quiet, it didn't bode well. "Where's Spike?"

"Out. Patrolling."

Something was… off. He inhaled sharply, testing the air, scenting. She was the only one in the house. "And Seth?"

"Out." She met his eyes evenly. "Patrolling."

"What? You're kidding me?"

"About this? No."

"Buffy, why would you even... ?"

Her gaze skittered sideward, just as the front door was flung open and Seth burst through in an explosion of hyperactivity.

"Mom! Didya see? Didya, didya?" He launched himself into her arms, still bobbing up and down in excitement.

She hugged him back tightly. "Sure did, baby. You did real good."

Spike surged in a moment later, the door crashing shut in his wake. "Bloody brat," he panted. "Ran pell-mell the whole way back." He caught sight of Angel and his lip curled with distaste. "Why're you here?"

He asked out of sheer habit, already knowing from Buffy why his Sire had deigned to grace them with his presence.

Angel didn't answer anyway. He was immobile with shock, mostly due to the fact that the boy was actually clutching a stake in his small, mittened hand. "Is that a... ?" The question caught in his throat when Seth turned his head to look at him. "Oh. Jeez."

The lad's eyes were a dark, molten gold. "Vampire," he growled, and would have attacked in the next instant if Buffy hadn't held him firm.

"That's Angel," Buffy murmured to the agitated child, one hand stroking his hair in attempt to calm him. "Remember Angel? He's a good guy."

Seth just struggled harder against the Slayer's hold. She threw her husband a pleading look.

"Nip!" Spike barked.

Seth looked at his father, tawny eyes blazing.

"We don't stake the guests," Spike told him firmly. He smirked at the older vamp, tucking his thumbs into his belt. "Even if they are wankers."

Seth let out a silly giggling noise, slipping back to his normal state as suddenly as he'd changed into the other one. "Spike said 'wanker'."

Buffy scowled at the blonde vampire. "Spike needs to have his mouth washed out with soap."

Seth pulled out of her grasp, grinning eagerly. "Can I watch?"

"No." She gave him another brief hug. "It's late. Go on up and get ready for bed, okay?"

"'Kay." Instead of moving to do as she asked, Seth lingered by her side, resting his weight against the arm of the chair. He gnawed on his lower lip, casting shy glances at Angel through his long lashes.

Spike smiled indulgently. "Got somethin' you wanna say?" he prompted.

"Sorry, I was gonna stake ya," Seth intoned, then turned on his heel and scurried away up the stairs.

Buffy shrugged one shoulder self-consciously. "He's kinda shy around strangers."

Spike snorted. "Don't get any stranger than old Peach-fuzz there."

Angel glared at his incessantly irritating childe. "I think what just happened takes the strangeness cake." He raised his brows, glancing back and forth between the pair. "Anyone care to fill me in?"

"Not that it's any of your business, Gramps, but Nip's gone all super-powered on us." Spike slouched against the doorjamb, feigning a complete lack of concern.

Buffy maintained a similar air. "We're dealing."

"By letting him dust vampires?" Angel was incredulous. "What the hell are you thinking? Are you trying to get him killed?"

Buffy's eyes widened, hurt by the accusation. "How can you even ask that?"

"It's a valid question. From what I saw you're not exactly being the poster people for responsible parenting."

Spike let fly at his Sire in much the same manner as Seth had tried to. In the blink of an eye he had Angel pinned to the sofa, one implacable hand gripping his throat.

"Shut your gob, you bloody arrogant git," he hissed, squeezing harder with each word, pushing him into the cushions. "We're doin' what's right as best we know how an' we sure as hell don't need the likes of you, or that sodding Council getting in our way."

Angel struggled. Wrenching at Spike's wrist to break the hold, then shoving him back, straining to draw the air to speak. "The… uh, the C-council is here?"

"New Slayer, new Watcher," Buffy reported, unsympathetic to his distress and kind of disappointed that Spike hadn't hit him. "That's how it works, remember?"

"Uh huh." The older vampire rubbed at his throat thoughtfully, and then looked up at Spike, who loomed over him like a particularly annoying bleached blonde thundercloud. "Strangling me doesn't really work, you know," he commented.

"Yeah, well, it's good for a laugh."

Seth appeared on the stairs behind them, pajama clad and peeking anxiously through the banister. "Mom?"

Buffy shot to her feet. "What's the matter, sweetie?"

"Are you guys fightin'?"

"No."

"Yes."

Buffy and Spike had answered simultaneously, then stared at each other, a complex jumble of emotions zipping back and forth between their gazes.

"Your Dad just made Angel a little mad," Buffy explained after a beat.

"Like when he makes Uncle Xan get all red in the face and then he yells all them bad words?"

"Yeah. Exactly like that."

Seth took a moment to register that, then dismissed the incident altogether, moving on to a more important subject. "Hey, I can't find Mr. Gordo. He's losted."

Buffy headed off toward the stairs, taking her son's hand and joining him in the climb back to his room. "Where did you last see him?"

Spike and Angel watched them leave, each lost in their own thoughts.

"So," the elder vamp said after the silence had stretched to breaking point. "Superpowers, huh?"

"Yeah. Happy bloody Birthday."

"It's your birthday?"

-x-

Giles was enchanted.

Enchanted, spellbound, awestruck; simply because Lydia Travers-Sherwood was sporting the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen. It transformed her, softened all those hard, straight edges, made her seem more human. There was a real woman under those starchy outer layers. A woman who was worth knowing.

Lydia met Rupert's gaze, hoping to share her amusement, and her grin faltered slightly as she noticed his rapt expression. A moment passed, then he indicted the other in their midst with a jerk of his head, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, and she was forced to slap a hand over her mouth to trap the laughter threatening to escape.

Angel had burst into the Magic Box ten minutes earlier urgently wanting to speak with Giles, the smoke clinging to his shoulders proof positive of a close call with the mid-morning sunshine. They had yet to learn the reason for his urgency however, as only moments after he'd been hastily introduced to a somewhat awed Lydia, his cell phone had sounded, letting him know that there was a message awaiting him.

Watching the centuries-old vampire struggle with the device was proving to be one of the most entertaining things Lydia had witnessed in the last decade.

First of all was the fact that his ring-tone was set to the tune of 'I Think I Love You' by none other than the Partridge Family. It had taken him five minutes to turn it off, bringing about the second reason for her merriment - that the phone was so very tiny and no match for his large blunt-tipped fingers.

And then there was the swearing.

"Stupid plastic piece of crap." Angel jabbed at the keypad one more time and then glared at it with such intensity it was a wonder it didn't melt. The hand holding the phone flexed as he hefted it up, ready to throw it across the room.

"I don't think Cordelia would appreciate you doing that," Giles commented.

Angel frowned, dark eyes flitting from the Watcher to the phone and back again, his face enigmatic. Then he sighed and stuffed the cell in the pocket of his coat. "Can I use your phone?"

"Be my guest." Giles waved at the apparatus on the wall and went back to his books, only occasionally glancing up to catch a peek at Lydia. If she was aware of his attention, she didn't let on, seemingly absorbed once again in her own research. She was thorough, but not overly bookish. Practical, without being staid. And she had a marvelous sense of humor. He was really beginning to like her quite a bit.

Angel was by now engrossed in a mostly one-sided conversation with his other half, punctuated by long drawn-out pauses as she ranted down the line. "No, Cor, it's just that … Oh come on, you know I hate the stupid thing … What? No I did not. It's right here in my pocket … Because Giles probably doesn't know how to use it either." He glanced at the Watcher and mouthed 'sorry'. "Cordy, could you just tell me … Yeah, yeah. Got it … No, I don't have to write it down … Not much longer … Right. Bye." A deep sigh. "No, I'm not going to say it … Because there are people here listening … I am _not_ embarrassed." He squeezed shut his eyes, frustrated. "Cordy…"

"She seems to be the domineering sort."

Giles jumped at the voice. Without his noticing Lydia had moved to the counter, evidently to engage him in conspiratorial undertones. "What? Oh, oh yes, quite. Cordelia Chase is a very assertive young woman."

"He doesn't seem to mind." Lydia watched Angel thump his forehead against the wall in aggravation. "For the most part."

"Yes, well, despite how it looks he's a better and more patient man that I. Cordelia often had me at my wits end."

"Judging from what I've read so far, it's a place you've visited quite a bit."

Giles smiled. "I've had my moments."

Lydia returned his smile. It was even more beautiful close up. "I'll just bet you have." She winked and strolled back to the table.

Giles watched her go, mouth agape. _Had she just been flirting with him?_

"Can I talk to you privately?"

Angel's low voice startled him from his musings. The man moved like a cat, he hadn't even heard him hang up the phone. "What? What did you say?"

"Wow. Stunned Giles. That's one for the record books." The vampire's dark gaze darted toward Lydia and then back to the flustered Watcher, one corner of his mouth ticking up the tiniest bit. "She must be special."

Giles scowled. "Is that your business?"

"Not really." Angel shrugged. "Have you recovered enough to talk yet?"

"You do seem troubled. More so than usual, at any rate. Is it Cordelia?"

"No, Cordy's just…" He floundered for a suitable adjective for a moment, and then threw up his hands in defeat. "Being Cordy."

Giles stifled a knowing little smirk of his own, dropping his gaze to the paperwork before him. "Indeed."

"The truth is I'm worried about Buffy."

The Watcher's head shot up at that, and he instantly gave himself away. "Why? Did something happen?"

Angel stilled, realization dawning. "You already know don't you." It wasn't a question.

Giles' face hardened. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

"That might fly if you were dealing with a human, but…" Angel looked Giles over. "Faster pulse, higher blood pressure." He sniffed pointedly. "Sweat. Not lying to me, are you?"

_Damned sensitive vampires._ "Not in the least."

"Uh huh." Angel placed his hands on the counter and leant in. "I've got two words for you, Giles. Golden. Prodigy."

They both swung towards the Magic Box door as it clattered open.

Dawn flounced in, a spring in her step. "Hey, what's…up…?" Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the vampire. Her eyes widened comically and she let out a little 'eep', before dumping her backpack on the floor and scrabbling to find the stake she'd squirreled away in it.

"Never mind, Dawn," Lydia said calmly, barely bothering to glance up from the journal she was reading. "It's fine. He doesn't need to be slain."

The teen hesitated. Her Watcher didn't seem to be under a thrall or anything but you could never know for sure, especially with older vamps. And this one felt pretty old. Kind of unusual, too; sort of brooding and mysterious, different from your average, run of the mill creature of the night. He made her twitchy, and not in a good way despite being really, incredibly gorgeous.

"Okay." She kept the stake in her hand, regardless, and eyed him skeptically. "Why don't we need to slay him? I mean, he_ is_ a vampire, right?"

Angel straightened and eyed her right back.

So, this was the girl the Watcher's Council believed would end dimensional disharmony? She seemed perfectly unremarkable to him. Buffy had always given the impression of being so much more _there_; a larger than life presence. But, much like Faith, he sensed no real power in this one other that her Slayerness. That clinched it. No cosmic destiny for her.

Jaw set like granite, he crossed his arms, at his most imperious. "Yeah, I am. My name is Angel."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" She folded her own arms across her chest, mirroring his pose, tapping the stake impatiently against her left shoulder. "Because I have to say, that's a really sad name for an evil vampire, not ominous sounding at all."

Angel's imposing façade gave way, making him appear much, much younger all of a sudden. "I'm _not _evil," he whined. "Why does everyone always think that?" He threw his arms out in supplication. "Am I giving off evil vibes or something?"

"Kinda." Dawn cocked her head, reminding him weirdly of Spike. "Plus, you know, _vampire_."

"Well, I'm not evil okay? I used to be, but I got better. I haven't been evil for a long time. Years, even."

"I get the point." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, where it cascaded straight down her back like a shampoo commercial. "Jeez, tantrum much?"

She was definitely reminding him of Spike now. It wasn't anything specific he could put his finger on, but Angel suddenly wanted to strangle her. He made a frustrated sound in his throat and turned to Giles for support.

"Oh, um," Giles realized he was supposed to say something to back the vampire up, but could think of a single thing. "He – he used to be known as Angelus," he finally blurted.

Angel glowered. "That's not helpful."

Dawn blinked, memory jogging. "As in Scourge of Europe Angelus?" She pursed her lips and looked at him anew, something akin to admiration sparking in her clear blue eyes. "Huh. I've heard about you. You're, like, famous and stuff."

"But I'm not evil anymore," Angel qualified. "I have a soul now."

"You're a hero then, right? Like Spike."

The older vampire looked appalled. "God, no. I'm not anything like Spike. At all. We're completely different. I mean, he's so… so short. And obnoxious, and annoying, and… he has bad fashion sense."

"Really, really bad," Dawn snorted in amusement. "And his hair is kind of…"

"Ridiculous?"

"Yeah."

They smiled at each other and Dawn actually felt something shift inside her, a sudden pull of attraction. What was that all about? Sure he was hot, but he was also an icky old vampire - EW! Except… except she wasn't feeling the 'ew' part so much right now, and those dark chocolate eyes of his were so beautiful, especially when he was smiling… all soft and melty and…

She blushed and ducked her head, waving the stake in his general direction. "I'll, um, I'll just be putting this away now." She snatched her backpack from the floor at her feet and retreated to the reading nook, not sparing him a backward glance.

Angel watched her go, the smile still lingering. "She's cute," he commented. "Got a bit of an attitude problem, but that's to be expected with Slayers."

Lydia turned in her seat to regard him warily. "What do you know of Slayers other than your interactions with Buffy and Faith?"

Angel's features stiffened as he drew back into himself. "Nothing much."

Giles squinted at him. He'd known Angel long enough now to know when he was hiding something and this was classic avoidance on the vampire's part, an interesting development after all this time. What _did _he know?

The vampire turned his head and met the Watcher's eyes. Something lurked in their depths, something Giles had never expected.

_Fear_.

Angel abruptly dropped his gaze, finding fascination with the tile pattern on the floor, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Giles was beyond intrigued now. He had done hours of research on the souled vampire after he'd first appeared in Buffy's life, but the Council's records were far from perfect. Of the limited number he'd found, some were sketchy, others blatantly false. Sometimes the vampire had been given credit, if one could call it that, for different murders on the same date on opposite sides of the country, while yet another stated that he had not even been in the country at that time.

He cast a fleeting glance at the pile of journals Lydia was sorting through. Several of them were dedicated entirely to Angel and his alter-ego, but he couldn't recall any references to Slayers apart from his history with Faith, Buffy and, to a lesser extent, Kendra. In fact, he was positive there were none. What was it he had missed?

Angel, not surprisingly, had identified his intentions from that one furtive movement. "Giles, I…" He sighed heavily. "Look, could you just… let it go? Please?"

"Why?"

"It's… Nothing good can come of it, and I…" he cut himself off, sensing that Lydia was now watching them curiously from the study table. He shook his head. "Just drop it. We've got other things to worry about now. Things that have nothing to do with me." He stared intently into the Watcher's eyes, almost trying to impress his will on the other man. "All right?"

Giles met the look head on. He'd gone up against Angelus at his worst and this version of the vampire, Warrior-soul or not, was nowhere near as intimidating. But… he was correct in his observation; there were other issues at hand that held precedence.

"Fine. Consider the matter dropped." The grateful smile beginning to blossom on Angel's face disappeared when Giles added, "For now."

-x-

Saturday night was Double-the-Fun Night, wherein patrols operated in two simultaneous shifts. This week the Scooby Roster had decreed both Buffy and Spike on active duty and Willow chief baby-sitter.

The young witch took this obligation very seriously and even though Seth was safely tucked away in bed, and Spike had been home from his allocated rounds for almost an hour, she was still firmly ensconced at the house on Revello Drive.

She was perched on the edge of the sofa, so engrossed by the laptop on the coffee table before her that she only looked up as the front door slammed and Buffy squelched into the room, soaked through.

"Yikes. What happened to you?"

Buffy grimaced. "Believe it or not, it was this whole weird thing where water fell from the sky."

Willow nodded solemnly. "I have actually heard of that. Some people call it 'rain'." She mimed quote marks with her fingers. "Word is it's never supposed to happen in Southern California."

The Slayer wrung out a handful of sopping hair and then whined, stomping her feet. "Wah! Rain make Buffy all drippy. Ruin Buffy's new suede boots. Buffy no like."

Spike walked into the room behind her and draped a fluffy white towel over her shoulders. He'd obviously been anticipating her arrival. "You're makin' a puddle on the floor, pet. Might wanna take your soggy self upstairs."

"I'll make you into puddle," she muttered, shooting him an enigmatic look from the corner of her eye, but started off to do his bidding anyway, rubbing at her hair as she went. "Thanks for the towel by the way."

"No worries." The vampire watched as she walked away, admiring how her wet clothing molded to her trim figure. When he turned back, Willow was eyeing him with the narrowed gaze of scientific analysis.

"So, how did you know?" she asked.

"Eh?" Spike frowned. Witch was getting as bad as the Watchers, wanting to know all their little irks and quirks.

"How'd you know that she got caught in the rain? Was it like a physical thing or a _meta_physical thing?"

"Why's it matter?" He plunked himself down on his beloved green chair, flinging one leg over the armrest. "You doin' Rupert's dirty work now? Plannin' on joining his merry band of wankers?"

"Merry band of ... ?" Willow waved that off. "Never mind. I was just thinking that maybe we should be paying more attention to the odd kinda stuff that happens around here. Start, you know, keeping track."

Spike's pale head tilted, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Moving with a slow deliberation, he straightened, swung both feet to the floor and leant forward. "Don't much appreciate bein' spied on" he said. His voice was soft, but there was danger lurking behind those mellifluous tones.

She swallowed, her face flushing guiltily. "I'm not..."

"Bollocks." He reached out and slammed her laptop shut, just to make sure he had her full attention. "Know well and good when someone's prying. That new bird's been on your ear, hasn't she? Been whisperin' all kinds of sweet promises."

"N-no..."

"You'll pay no mind to our business, Red" he growled, jabbing a finger under her nose in dark warning. "None. Got it?"

She blinked huge frightened eyes at him. He hadn't threatened her like this for years, not since the bottle-in-face incident that they didn't talk about anymore. He was practically vamping out right in front of her. Maybe Lydia had been on the money after all, something was definitely up.

"S-sure. Whatever you say, Spike."

Buffy bustled back into the room, still damp but now swaddled in a mint-green terrycloth robe that had to be five sizes too large. She moved unswervingly to Spike's side, and settled a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled in the wiry musculature there. "What's up?"

Spike shook his head, not taking his eyes from Willow. "Nothing you have to worry your Slayer head about," he said.

"You sure? Vibes of the serious variety bouncing all around the room here."

"We're fine, love." He reached up to cover her hand with his own, finally dragging his gaze away from the redhead when he noticed the low temperature of her skin beneath his fingers. "Bloody hell, you're chilled to the bone. Want some hot chocolate to warm up?"

"You bet. Make it a Spike Special."

"Hmm." He nodded distractedly and wandered off toward the kitchen.

Buffy zeroed in on Willow. "What isn't he telling me?"

Willow pried her laptop back open. "I thought you guys could just pick up what the other one was thinking or isn't that working anymore"

"Oh, it works." Buffy's mouth curved in a secretive little smile. "It works _real g-o-o-o-d_."

Willow made a squick face. "TMI, Buff."

"So sorry, gay-now girl." Buffy shrugged. "We've got this system. I don't really know how to explain it so you'd... Oh" She gestured at the computer. "It's like firewalls or something. Password protect."

"You can do that?" Willow looked up, interest peaked. "In your head?"

"Uh-huh." Buffy slumped into Spike's chair and began to roll up the sleeves of her robe. She peered fretfully in the direction of the kitchen. "He's being all broody though, so he's not real keen on letting me in just yet."

"And also kinda big with the not-trusting."

A few minutes passed in silence as Buffy regarded her longtime friend with a speculative expression. "You were pushing him."

Willow's mouth dropped open. "How did... ?"

"You were fishing for info and he clammed up."

"Yes!" Willow blurted, almost in relief. "That's exactly it! And then he got all finger-pointy and _'grr'_ at me, and it was even scarier than I remembered, mostly because he's not fall-down drunk this time."

"Yeah. 'Drunken Angry Spike' is definitely more annoying than scary, but I have to admit 'Sober Angry Spike' completely wigs me out."

"I'm down with the wigging."

"Well then, how'd you set him off? You were... what? Doing some freelance noticing?"

"It was really Lydia who did the noticing part."

"Right nosy bint, that one," Spike commented, ambling back into the room.

He seemed calmer, handing Buffy her 'Best Mom Ever!' mug, then dropping down beside Willow in his usual boneless sprawl. She shifted fractionally away from him.

He sighed heavily and then locked eyes with Buffy, his scarred brow lifting in silent inquiry.

She raised her own brows in return; then when they'd reached some sort of verdict in their internal debate, nodded and took a sip of her hot chocolate, leaving whatever explanations were necessary to her vampire partner.

Willow huffed in resentment. "Okay, now you're _both_ with the not speaking."

"Look," Spike twisted so that he was face to face with the witch, "I understand you're a tad on the peeved side, but I'm not goin' to get down on my knee and beg forgiveness for the intimidation bit earlier, 'cause truthfully? Not sorry. There was a good reason for that._ And_," he went on, interrupting as she made to comment. "Before I let the proverbial cat out of the bag, I want your word that it goes no further than this room. Enough people in the know as it is."

Willow panicked, torn between her desire to discover the big secret and loyalty to her spouse. "But - but I can tell Tara, right? I can't keep any secrets from Tara. We don't... I _have_ to tell her _everything_."

"Glinda, then," Spike conceded. "But that's it. I'm not fooling here."

She nodded emphatically; one hand raised as if taking an oath.

"Good." Spike pursed his lips, unsure as to where to start. He shot a glance toward the ceiling, almost as though he was seeking guidance. "Right then. Uh... remember when the Nip was born?"

"Kind of unforgettable. It wasn't exactly the textbook version of birthin' babies. What, with all the fighting, and the biting."

"Yeah. Right. In any case, we figured all that 'bridge' twaddle Rupert kept banging on about was over and done after that." He paused and looked over at Buffy. "Turns out it wasn't."

"Wait, you're saying... What _are_ you saying? There's something wrong with Seth?"

"No." Buffy clunked her mug down loudly on the coffee table. "Don't ever say that. This is exactly the reason we didn't tell anyone. There's nothing _wrong_ with him. He's not wrong!"

"Shush, love," Spike cautioned. "You'll wake the lad."

The Slayer's lip trembled. "He's _special,_" she insisted.

"That's right," the vampire agreed. "Same as you, same as me." He glanced at Willow. "Same as you, if you want to get fussy about it."

The young witch took a moment to process the information, trying to maintain some sort of calm. Wouldn't be good to turn into a big spaz on them when they'd trusted her with something so mind-blowingly important. She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. "So, um... Define the special. Just how special is he?"

"Been flashing the yellow peepers since nigh on the beginning," Spike revealed, an odd hint of pride in his voice. "And just lately, he's been showing signs of Slayer strength. Staked a fledge last night all on his own."

"But he's only five!" Willow was shocked.

He patted her on the knee. "There's where you've hit the nail dead square, love."

"Can you imagine what the Council would do if they found out?" Buffy asked. "The tests they'd perform on him?"

"Oh. Yeah, okay, I can see why you freaked out on me." Willow nodded. "I totally get it. And Lydia will just have to wallow in ignorant creek from now on. She won't be getting anything out of me." She made a show of crossing her heart, and then gave them a shrewd look. "That's not the whole story, though, is it?"

"No." Spike didn't elaborate. He was having a hard time trying to incorporate all the puzzle pieces himself. Between what that Lydia chit had told them about the prophecy, Angel's cryptic visit, and Giles dropping his 'let the boy patrol' bombshell…

_Little wonder he had a headache again; almost as bad as the chip, all this bloody thinking._

Buffy frowned at him. "Are you alright?"

"I'll manage."

She kept her eyes on him, concerned. "Is that the honest truth? You did nearly vamp out again. I can tell."

Willow was intrigued. "How can you possibly know that? Apart from my description of the _'grr'_ factor, I mean?"

Buffy tapped her forehead. "He gets this niggling little head-achy thing from the ridges."

"Really?" Willow had her scientific face on again. She leant in to peer at him, reaching out with one finger to poke him curiously between the eyebrows.

"Oi, watch it." Spike growled in protest and leaned out of reach, burrowing himself a little deeper into the sofa cushions and scowling at each of them impartially.

They ignored him.

"That falls on the extreme side of weird, doesn't it?" Willow asked. "Technically he's still a vamp, and a vamp's gotta get the bumpies."

"Usually, but he's been having trouble with his for a while now." Buffy snuffled with laughter. "Spike don't got game-face."

That earned a disgusted grunt from the vampire. "Still in the bloody room, you know," he groused.

Willow smirked at him in a manner that was decidedly condescending. "So, you're having a little trouble …performing, huh?"

"What? No, I… _No!_" Spike looked appalled by the insinuation. "God, what is it with you birds and impugning my manhood? The whole lot of you, you're always… Hey, hold on a minute, I'm havin' flashbacks. We've had this conversation before, haven't we?"

"What? When?" Willow's eyes grew round. "Oh. Oh, right. When you… with the, uh, the chip." She glanced at Buffy and the two of them dissolved into giggles.

"'S not funny," Spike said indignantly. "No pleasant memories there at all. I had a horrible time of it that year."

"Not true. What about my will-be-done spell?" Willow demanded. "You can't tell me that was horrible."

He pouted. "That was torture."

Buffy batted her lashes at him, teasing. "Aw, look at that lip…"

Spike broke out in a grin despite himself, eyes sparking a roguish shade of blue. "Wanna come and get it?"

"And I think that's my cue." Willow stood and began to gather her things together. "I'll go and leave you guys to… do whatever." She stuffed her lap top into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Just keep it down, okay? I don't think Seth's sleeping very well."

"Nip's just a night owl," Spike said easily, dismissing her allegation with a wave of his hand. "Like his old man. Vampire genes, you know."

Willow nodded. "I know."

She left without another word.

Buffy turned straight to her husband. "Seth hasn't been sleeping? Since when? Why didn't I know this?"

"No need to get your dainties in a bunch. I was going to tell you private like once Red was on her way."

Buffy got up and moved across to the sofa, hitching up her robe to climb astride the vampire's lap. She cupped his chin in her palm, looking straight into his eyes. "That's the reason you've been making with the surly all night, huh? Trying to be cloak-and-dagger guy?"

He shrugged. "Don't like hiding things."

Buffy snorted. "I would never have guessed," she said, "Seeing that you're so good at it." The hand at his jaw began to wander, fingers trailing down the length of his throat to dip into the V of his sage-colored shirt. She deftly popped open the top button. "So, uh, want to come upstairs and… show me stuff?"

Spike suppressed a grin. Unable to resist teasing her, he peeked up from beneath his lashes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Not tonight, Slayer," he intoned solemnly. "I've got a headache."

"Oh, okay, I…" Buffy froze, a line creasing her brow as she concentrated on feeling him out through the link, then she whapped him flat in the centre of in the chest. "Jerk."

"Ow!" He rubbed at the injured spot. "That hurt."

"Good." She thumped him again, just for the hell of it.

"Cut it out."

This time she pinched him.

Spike grabbed her by the upper arms, tight enough to bruise any ordinary person. The look he gave her burned with laser-like intensity. "You vicious little bitch."

"Yeah, well, you're an assho - " The word was cut off by Spike's mouth meeting hers, hard and hungry.

_Mmmm__…__ Lips of Spike…_

…TBC


	5. Confidence

-5-

CONFIDENCE

Since Angel had inexplicably opted to stay in Sunnydale for the time being and do the lurking thing that he was so good at, he'd been recruited onto the patrol roster. It wasn't a development he was particularly happy about, especially since they had teamed him with the younger of the two Slayers, and he was registering his complaints about the previous evening's shift with the management.

"…And she's so clumsy! She's always stumbling and tripping over. I mean, I had to haul her out of open graves twice last night."

Buffy shook her head, bewildered by the diatribe. "But it's already been settled. We wrote it down, in permanent ink and everything. You get to be the one to take Dawn along with. One vamp, one Slayer. The perfect system, you said."

"Well, I was wrong. I'll do it alone from now on. She's too much of a distraction. Also, you know, I don't trust her. She acts all weird when I'm around, and she, like… _stares_ all the time. I really think she still wants to dust me."

"Are you impaired or something?" Buffy rolled her eyes. "Angel, Dawn's got a huge crush on you."

He scoffed. "She does not." There was a pause as the vampire registered the truth of what she was saying. Horror and surprised pleasure battled for dominance on his usually impassive face. The latter won and a smile began to curve his mouth. "Does she? Really?"

"Oh, come on. Do you not remember how we first started dating? You're the totally hot older guy. Not to mention the whole 'forbidden fruit, taboo, must not go there' thing. Wanting what you can't have." Buffy patted him on the arm. "I wrote the book on this, trust me."

Spike let out the stupidest little tittering noise at the idea of Buffy writing anything resembling a book. She sent him a withering glance before turning back toward Angel. She sighed when she saw his face, now sporting one of those rarely seen goofy ear-to-ear grins. Ten years ago, she would have melted into a gooey puddle seeing that grin. If Dawn walked in right now, she was doomed.

Spike sputtered then, a giggle strangling in his throat. She could feel his amusement bubbling along beneath the flow of her own concern, and while she could definitely see his point of view on the situation, she also knew how badly her own liaison with the vampire had turned out. Dawn did not need that right now.

"Not going to happen, love," Spike suddenly said, breaking into her musings. His tone was light, residual laughter still rippling under the surface. "'S not like the great berk's interested in the Nibblet, not when he's got the former cheerleader taking up his time."

Angel's smile abruptly disappeared as he realized what was being implied. "What?" He glanced back and forth between them. "You can't think I was gonna…? I wouldn't do that."

"Not now, you mean," Spike noted. "Didn't stop you last time round."

Angel stared at him. "Are you saying I'm some sort of perverted cradle-robber?"

"Cap fits dunnit?"

"There is no fitting of caps," Buffy soothed, intent on keeping the peace. "We're not accusing you of anything." She pinned Spike with an unyielding gaze. "Are we?"

"'Course we are," he said blithely. "Think on it, mate. How many years you got on my girl again?"

"Oh, like you can talk," Angel retorted. "How much older are you?"

"I'm young at heart," Spike said. "And no matter how you slice it, you've still got a century over me, Pops. No getting around that."

Buffy sighed. "This is so entirely pointless." She threw her hands up and began walking away. "When am I going to learn that there's no getting through to either of you? Stupid bull-headed vampires."

They both watched her go, admiring the scenery, the inspired landscape of 'Annoyed Blonde Slayer in Tight Leather Pants'.

Spike waited until she was out of sight before sharing a small grin with his Sire. "Pervert," he observed conspiratorially.

"Cradle-robber," Angel agreed.

-x-

Dawn's spur-of-the-moment patrol had gone well; seven vamps and a Spotted Graknathyn all done and dusted. She wasn't going to mention that last one to Lydia when she made her report, though. If she remembered her demon studies right, the Graks traveled in large family groups called gaggles, kind of like geese. She got the feeling that slaying the one individual who had dared to venture out solo was going to lead to bad things of a revenge-y sort.

So, no mentioning of that. Or the fact that she'd managed to cut herself. Again. On the calf this time. It was a good thing her healing powers were all that and then some, or she would have to do some serious explaining.

This would probably lead to the loss of permission to take the sword along, which would definitely be bad. She liked having a good solid weapon in her hand, made her feel safe and stuff, even if she was the one who was often on the receiving end of it. Spike found this particular trait of hers hilarious. 'Ironic', he'd said.

Dawn didn't get it.

She strolled along Main Street, heading for the Magic Box. She knew it was way past closing time, but Buffy and Spike sometimes hung there after their patrol and who knew, maybe Angel would be there too. Not that she was looking for him or anything…

Oh, who was she kidding? She was practically stalking the guy. Could she be more desperate and obvious?

Dawn thought back to the night before during their shift when she'd 'accidentally' tripped over a headstone and all but thrown herself into his arms. His nice, strong, muscular arms…

The young Slayer sighed. Nope, obviously desperate, that was her.

She was still a little icked out by the 'him being a vampire' hitch, though. She'd tossed some vague, un-incriminating inquiries at her fellow Chosen earlier, trying to figure out if the attraction thing was of the normal for Slayers, but Buffy had just rambled on about 'affinity' and 'balance', and then mentioned something really disturbing about 'meshing'.

Dawn didn't get that either.

She halted outside the front window of the store, her breath catching in her throat when she spied Spike and Angel inside. _Oh, wow. He was here._

Now she was nervous. Vamps could sense that, right?

She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down, and almost started hyperventilating when the older vampire stood up and shrugged out of his overcoat. He wore a fitted burgundy-colored sweater underneath and it made him look completely drool-worthy and _holy schmoly, get a load of those muscles!_

Spike, who was perched on the study table with his back to the door, suddenly held up a hand, bringing the conversation inside to a halt. He cocked his head to the side and then peered back over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched inquisitively. When he saw that it was her he turned back to Angel and made some comment that made the other vampire cringe.

Dawn scowled at the back of his bleached-blonde head through the glass. _He was always doing that; making her feel inferior. What the hell was he saying about her to get that kind of reaction?_

She barged in through the door. "What did you just say about me?"

Spike smirked. "Hello to you, too, Nibblet." He paused and sniffed, his eyes dropping to the slash in the leg of her jeans. "Had yourself another little accident, did you? Nasty."

Her anger evaporated in favor of keeping the incident low profile. "Oh my God, Spike, please don't tell Lydia."

"Right." He pursed his lips and regarded her speculatively. "What's in it for me?"

"Um, how about I don't stake you?"

Spike launched himself off the table and was instantly nose-to-nose with her. She blinked. _Man that was fast!_

"Don't make threats you can't carry out, little girl," he snarled, his breath puffing against her face. "Lesson the first – know thy enemy. Not your typical vamp here." He grabbed her hand and placed it over his beating heart, his fierce blue eyes drilling into hers like lasers. "Feel that?"

Oh yeah, she felt it. That and a whole boat load of fear. Why hadn't anyone told her that he could be so seriously scary?

"Back off, Spike."

Angel clamped a powerful hand on his Childe's shoulder and wrenched him away. Spike flew backward, crashing into the counter and then sliding down on his ass and resting there like a propped-up rag doll.

Dawn gazed up at her savior with big, worshipful eyes. "Thank you."

Angel stared at her for a long moment, his expression unfathomable, and then casually shrugged. "Sure. No problem."

"I was gonna kick his scrawny butt in two seconds anyway," she continued, stepping into his path as he moved away, trying to hold his attention. "But, you know, I appreciate the help."

Angel allowed a tiny smile. "Well, it's kind of my job, helping people."

"Mine too!"

Spike snorted. He was still sitting where he'd landed, massaging his arm to get the circulation back. "You and your bloody hero complex, Peaches." He wagged a reproving finger. "Be the death of you one day."

"Already dead," Angel informed him blandly.

Buffy re-emerged from the training room and stood over her husband like impending doom. "What are you doing?"

He offered a guileless little smile. "Polishing Rupert's tiles with my delectable rear end?"

"Uh huh." She waited until he'd pulled himself upright and then kicked him in the shin. "That's for being mean to Dawn."

"Ow! What?" He hopped on one foot. "I was helping!"

She unrepentantly kicked him in the other leg. "And that's for trying to lie to me."

He didn't reply, but his eyes glazed over for a split second and Buffy twitched like she'd been electrocuted.

Her eyes went wide. "Oh! Oh, that's…" She flushed and hissed at him, "Don't do that _here_!"

Dawn was fascinated. "What did he do?"

No one quite knew how to answer that, and when the cheerful electronic strains of 'I Think I Love You' suddenly filled the awkward silence, they all turned and stared at the place where the tune was emanating from.

Angel's coat.

"Your manly apparel got a penchant for David Cassidy, has it?" Spike asked dryly. "Can't say as I'm surprised."

Angel glared at him, snatching the coat up and searching the pockets for his dreaded cell phone. When he found it he handed it straight to Buffy. "Here, you answer it," he insisted. "I keep forgetting how."

Buffy grinned. "You always were technology challenged," she said. "Darn these tiny new-fangled thingamajiggys!" She pressed the call button and held the phone to her ear. "Hey, Cordy!" she chirped, eyes dancing with mischief. "Yeah, it's Buffy… Nah, he's here, he's just doing his 'cranky old fuddy-duddy who can't use a phone' routine…" She let out a delighted peal of laughter. "God, I _know_!"

Spike shook his head at his Sire. "Now you've gone and done it."

Angel watched Buffy warily, a belated wave of trepidation furrowing his brow. "What?"

"First rule of coupling, mate. Never give the birds a chance to gossip. 'Specially when there's an 'ex' involved."

"I never thought of that." Angel's worry became more pronounced when Buffy unashamedly studied the cut of his trousers and then winked, her tongue curling behind her teeth in the wicked way usually favored by her partner. "How bad could it be?"

"Trust me, mate, you don't want to know." Spike rubbed a hand across his eyes as though trying to erase an unwanted image. "Hell, I don't want to know. Buffy, have some pity, love."

The Slayer pouted at him, but said her goodbyes and handed the phone back to Angel. "She wants to talk to you."

Angel looked at the device as though she'd just tried to hand him a hissing snake. He took it gingerly and held it to his ear. "What is it, Cor?" At her reply, his eyes darted from Spike's to Buffy's and back, before he spun on his heel and moved off to try and find some privacy. With their shared powers, they could probably hear the other end of the conversation and he'd had enough of their teasing for one night.

Meanwhile, Dawn had been watching the scene unfold, feeling no small amount of trepidation herself. Her stomach felt like it was trying to make a swift exit via her throat, tightening all the muscles and making it hard to swallow.

_Just who was this Cordy person? More importantly, what did she mean to Angel?_

"Who's that?" Her voice was small and embarrassingly squeaky. She flinched at the sound of it.

Buffy and Spike exchanged an enigmatic look that quickly dissolved into a silent battle of '_You tell her', 'No, you tell her', 'No, you'_. Even Dawn, in all her cluelessness, was perceptive enough to make out what that meant.

"Oh. Oh, don't worry, I get the picture." Her voice was all thick and teary now, but she absolutely refused to cry. Not here anyway. "I'll, um… I'm going now."

"Dawn…" Buffy's call came too late, the younger Slayer having already bolted for the street, and she sighed heavily. "Damn. This is so not good."

"Yeah." Spike's dark brows were creased together in a worried frown. "Your average teen hormone bomb'd be bad enough, but this one's all Slayer-like and such. Could do all manner of damage."

"Probably more to herself than anyone else, I think," Buffy nibbled at her lower lip, eyes riveted on the Magic Box door. "I hope."

"Well, there's nothin' like a broken heart for pushing a person to extremes," Spike told her. "I learned that lesson hard enough."

Buffy squinted at him for a second, trying to decipher his meaning. She saw his memory flash in rapid sequence from a party scene and That Cecily Bitch, to a darkened alley and Drusilla, and her heart leapt in sick understanding. "You don't think she'd…"

"Nah. Not the Nibblet." He turned, directing his frown toward the broad expanse of Angel's back as he hunched in the corner, engrossed in his phone conversation. "But right there's an open target if ever I saw one."

"She'll blame him," Buffy realized. "She'll want to take away the pain, and the one that caused it."

Spike nodded. "That or she'll get it into her head to track Vision Girl down, try to free him up for herself."

"Great. Like we haven't got enough crap to deal with at the moment."

Buffy slumped against his side and he instinctively curved an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tighter and tucking her head under his chin.

"Don't fuss about it, pet," he said, stroking her hair. "We'll get it sorted."

She listened to Angel's furtive mutterings for a moment, and then glanced up at her husband's face. "You know, I think I hate him sometimes."

Spike's chest rumbled beneath her ear as he chuckled. "Suspect I may have some bearing on that sentiment."

Buffy shook her head, her cheek brushing against the lapel of his denim jacket. After all these years of being cigarette-free, he still smelled of smoke. It was strangely comforting. She had to fight the urge to just bury her nose there and stay awhile. "No, it's not you. I know how you feel about him and I can filter most of it out, but there are times when I… I just want to shake him for being so self-involved."

"Can't fault you for that," Spike said. "Often want to inflict some grievous harm on the old lunkhead myself." He smiled in happy reminiscence. "Never forget rising up from my wheelchair and belting him with that lead pipe. Or even torturing him for the Gem of Amarra, for that matter. Those were some good times."

Buffy swatted his flat stomach. "That's not nice."

"Been called a lot of things in my day, can't say that's one of 'em."

"Well, you're not _nice _nice, but you're not not-nice, either."

He laughed outright. "That Slayer logic, is it?"

"The more superior Buffy logic actually." Her hand soothed the place she'd struck in slow circles, bunching his shirt. She froze as something occurred to her and tapped him with a pointed finger. "You're like an M & M."

Spike peered down at the top of her head, scarred brow quirking. "Now, how d'you reckon that one out?"

"See, you're all bright and hard on the outside, but in the centre there's only sweet chocolately goodness."

"No offense, sunshine, but that is utter bollocks. Only sweetness and light to be found in this bag of bones comes from you and the Nipper."

"Way to prove my point, Candyman."

He only huffed in reply and they were silent for a time, enjoying the peace and quiet that settled over them whenever they were locked in such an embrace, the absolute sense of _right_. Only there in each other were they able to find a small measure of order amid the chaos that defined their lives.

Angel suddenly appeared in their line of sight, tugging on his coat and fumbling to put his phone away. He looked more miserable than ever. "Where's Dawn?"

Spike blinked at him. "You get some bad news?"

"No. Why?"

"You look kind of…" Buffy was going to say 'constipated' but managed to stop herself just in time. "Um, upset." She reached out to lay a hand on his forearm, finally daring to broach the subject they'd all been avoiding. "Angel, what's wrong? Why don't you want to go back to L.A.?"

He stared down at the point of contact with an almost unnatural fixation. "No reason." His eyes rose to meet hers, simmering like espresso, dark and bitter. "Nothing that matters, anyway."

The Slayer snatched her hand away, unnerved by the change in him. He'd just set a new world record: from goofy grin to withdrawn and brooding in mere minutes. What the hell could have caused this? It had to have been the phone call, but the why was a mystery. When she'd spoken to Cordy, she'd sounded great, relaxed and cheerful even, nothing to indicate a problem of any kind.

She snuck a concerned peek back up at Spike, catching him just as his head was starting to tilt sideward. She'd always wondered why he did that. Maybe he was so perceptive of people because he was always seeing them from a different angle to everyone else.

"Maybe," he murmured distractedly, his eyes never leaving the other vampire's face.

Angel, in contrast, was refusing to look directly at either of them. "I'm okay, really."

Spike shook his head minutely, indicating to Buffy that no, he really wasn't, but he was willing to let it go for the time being. "Yeah, you're just dandy. Fine as fine can be. Unfortunately…"

"…Dawn's not." Buffy picked up where Spike had left off with barely a dip in the conversation, trusting that he was doing the right thing in avoiding the other topic. He'd always been a better judge of Angel's character than her. "She's kind of wigged about the whole 'Cordelia's your girlfriend' scenario."

"Oh." Angel's lips peeled back in a pained wince. "Damn it. I didn't want her to find out that way."

"Sod that. You didn't want her to find out at all."

Angel eyed Spike sourly, but didn't bother with any further response. "I should go find her." He brushed by and left without uttering another word, disappearing into the shadowed street like the creature of the night that he was.

Buffy straightened and folded her arms across her chest. She hated when he got all Mister Mystery on them. It was never a good sign, and the last thing they needed was for him to have another 'dark' episode. "And once again, something's funky in the state of Angel."

"Was wonderin' what that smell was."

She made a sound in her throat, amused and distracted all at once, and Spike moved to stand behind her, briskly rubbing his palms over her upper arms to ward off her sudden chill. There was a thoughtful pause, and then he began to apply more pressure, massaging the pliant flesh with his thumbs, working steadily upward to the tight contours of her shoulders.

"Mmm." She pressed back into his body, surrendering to his expert touch. "That feels really good."

"Reckon so. You're all tense, love."

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"Well, I happen to have a share in that particular load and I'm okay."

"Liar. You're just as strung out as I am, you're just better at hiding it."

He leant in and growled low into her ear; an actual growl, like a big cat. It made a completely different kind of shiver run down her spine. "What say we call it a night then? Take some time to relax. Nip's sleepin' over at the Harris' place, so we've got the whole house to ourselves for a change. Could give you the full body version o' this."

_Ooh, maybe involving some sort of oil_… Images of gleaming skin and long, clever fingers ran through her head, leaving Buffy flushed with the possibilities.

Spike bit at the tender curve of her neck. Teasing, encouraging, and sending her a few select images all his own.

She grinned and bent abruptly at the waist, using her ass to push him away and then sprinting for the door. "Last one home's a stinky Grox'lar Beast!"

Spike stayed motionless for a moment, still reeling, trying to catch his breath. "Hey, that's cheating." And then he was running after her, barely remembering to close the door on his way out.

-x-

Dawn had almost made it halfway back to the hotel when she sensed the vampire behind her. It was one of the souled-up club, she could tell that much, though which one wasn't entirely clear from this distance. Either way, it didn't matter. She didn't want see Spike _or_ Angel. Especially not Angel.

She ducked into a side alley, flattened her back against the wall, and waited for him to pass by.

And waited, and waited.

She frowned. They should have caught up by now, whoever it was. She edged closer to the mouth of the alley and peered around the corner, only to come face-to-chin with Angel, who was doing the exact same thing.

"Gah!" She flinched back and slapped at his chest. "Jeez! Don't _do _that! You almost gave me a heart attack."

The dark vampire just looked at her. With the light behind him, she couldn't make out his face. Which was a pity, really, 'cause she'd never been this close before. She took a deep breath and held it for a second. He even smelled good.

"Why did you leave?" he asked.

She exhaled noisily. "Well, it was kind of boring and stuff. I mean, if you don't count that 'phone conversation-slash-comedy routine' thing you were all busy with."

There was a pause while he looked at her some more. Dawn wasn't sure, but she thought maybe he was smiling a little.

"Her name is Cordelia," he said after a bit. "She's my…" He hesitated then, not at all sure how to define what he and Cordy were. They weren't married, technically. And the old standby titles of boyfriend/girlfriend seemed woefully inadequate. "She's special," he concluded lamely.

"So am I!" Dawn cringed the moment the words left her mouth and hurried to cover the slip. "Not that I _want_ to be or anything, I just meant…"

"I know what you meant."

_He did?_ Mortified Dawn pushed past to the street, her face flaming.

"You're leaving again."

"Yeah. Kind of big with the embarrassment here, so I'll just…"

"Stay."

Did he just ask that, or was it her imagination? She turned back. "Huh?"

"I want to talk to you some more. To explain."

"I thought you did that part already."

He took a few more steps toward her, coming out of the shadows. A diagonal band of neon slashed across his face, lighting its planes in soft shades of blue, and in that moment he was utterly captivating to her; all earnest little boy, eager for her time. "Please, Dawn. It's important."

_Resist, Dawn. You must resist. _She narrowed her eyes. "Is this gonna be one of those 'it's not you, it's me' speeches?"

"Maybe."

He was definitely smiling this time. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy. She smiled back. "I've never had one of those before. You get to be my first."

The connotations of those words seemed to startle him for a second and his smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. "That's… good. I guess."

Dawn flicked her hair over her shoulder, nervous again. "So, um, you wanted to talk, right? And the talking and drinking thing seem to go, like, hand in hand, and the Java place is still open. At least, I think the Java place is still open. Want some coffee?" She frowned then. "Do vamps even drink coffee?"

"I can do coffee." Angel fell into step at her side. "But I think maybe you shouldn't."

Dawn wanted to bounce up and down with glee. This was so great! He was teasing her, like she was his best-friend or something.

There was still hope that she could win him over.

…TBC


	6. Misconduct

-6-

MISCONDUCT

Willow really wished she could magic herself out of the room. Out of the house, out of the town even, put Sunnydale and the Hellmouth far behind her. And while she was at it, she could go that one step further and put Buffy and Spike's 'special' child behind her as well.

Unfortunately an escape wasn't in the offing, so she remained locked down in the house at Revello Drive, enduring yet another ride on the babysitting rollercoaster. She'd deja-ed this vu many times before, but she had to say at this point that she wasn't going to be volunteering for the duty ever, ever again. There was going to be some putting-down of Willow-feet, and if that didn't work, the Resolve Face would be used. She couldn't cope by herself anymore. Seth was getting worse at each time, his disobedience growing exponentially along with his powers.

A loud crash made her wince and tug agitatedly at the wispy ends of her newly-cropped hair. "Seth Jameson Grey," she ground out between clenched teeth. "Get your little hybrid butt into bed right now."

He suddenly popped up at her elbow, elfin face dominated by big, curious blue eyes. "Whassa high-bridge?"

"H-hybrid," Willow corrected automatically, shocked that she hadn't heard him coming. He was using Spike's vampire stealthiness, now. That was a new development, and not a particularly pleasant one. Her heart was pounding from the fright he'd given her. "It means mixed. You know, like you're made up of bits of your Mom and Dad mixed together."

"Huh." Seth blinked at her for a second, taking that in, and then dashed off again at full speed, a mere pajama-clad blur to the witch's eyes.

Willow sighed. The kid had also inherited the narrow attention span distinctive of both his parents; they could have left that ingredient out of the mix with no argument. He was clever, though. Real clever. Quick on the up-take and quick with the taking-off. She didn't know where his attention-deficient parents got the patience. Of course, he was usually a perfectly behaved little angel when they were around because Spike didn't take any of this crap from him. And if Spike didn't, she wouldn't either. She wasn't about to be shown up by a vampire; she'd have to pull out the big guns.

Willow got to her feet. "Time for bed," she announced in a very stern voice. "I really mean it! _Vado__! Par ventus!"_

Her pupils flashed with silver and a spiraling gust of wind flared up from her extended hand to whirl through the house, scooping up the demon-child and carrying him off to his room like Dorothy over the rainbow.

She followed the magical tornado up the stairs, listening to the little boy's delighted giggling as he was swept along, and ending the spell only upon reaching the doorway of Seth's bedroom. He was now sprawled on his back, smack-dab in the centre of the bed, his hair a wild halo of blonde curls around his head, disordered even further than normal by the supernatural trip.

"I wanna do it again," he demanded when he saw her.

"No," she told him, having all the patience in the world now that she was back in control of the situation. "Little hybrids need to sleep."

"Not tired." He sat up suddenly, all eager-beaver. "Hey, can we go kill some vamps?"

"And again, I say no." She set the Resolve Face. It had many uses. "The way I see it, you've got two choices here. Sleep, or that perennial favorite… more sleep."

He laughed. "That's the same!"

"Pick one, buster."

Seth flopped back onto the bed again, contemplating his options. After a moment, he scooted up until his head was on the pillow. "Killin' vamps makes me sleepy," he grumbled as he maneuvered his body under the covers, determined to have the last word.

Willow sighed as she switched off the light. "The scariest thing about that statement is that it doesn't surprise me."

"Night, Auntie Will. I love you."

She smiled. That _always _surprised her, but in the very best way. "Love you, too, Seth. May the Goddess protect you in your dreams."

-x-

He'd finally found it, the connection he'd been seeking.

Giles tapped his finger on the ornately hand-written page, the inked words glaring up at him like an accusation, as if he should have known their significance all along. Indeed, it seemed so obvious now, the fact that they hadn't pieced the puzzle together before this moment was beyond his comprehension.

Fittingly, Angel chose that moment to stroll in from his early patrol with Dawn. She was glowering at his back as they came indoors.

"So not fair," the young Slayer complained, poking him with her stake for emphasis. "That fledge was totally mine, and you just leapt in there and…"

"Saved you from being his dinner?" Angel supplied.

Dawn's scowl darkened. "Wasn't gonna happen."

"Was too."

"Was not."

Giles sighed. He was glad that they'd become friendlier over the past week, it made scheduling the patrols simpler, but honestly, these two brought out the very worst traits in each other. Angel acted even more childish with Dawn than he did with Spike, and that was saying something.

The sound had drawn the dark vampire's attention, and he was staring intently at the book in Giles' possession. "What's that?"

"Just some research material." The Watcher did not wish to reveal the details of his discovery with Dawn in the room; it would just upset the girl.

Instead of being put off by the reply, Angel became even more interested. He wanted to learn all that he could about Seth's abilities before the Equinox occurred, forewarned was forearmed, and Giles was his best bet on that score. And for some strange reason, that old book seemed familiar. "Anything good?"

"Well, that would depend greatly on your definition of the word."

The Watcher's wary tone finally registered with the vamp and he paused, eyeing Giles with concern. "What is it?"

"I am not discussing this right now." Giles closed the book to emphasize his point.

"Why not?"

Realizing that his unwillingness to share was merely encouraging Angel to push harder, Giles stared at him with hard, flinty eyes. "Fine then," he said. "I have two words for you. A name actually - Saskia Kaldera."

Angel jerked back like he'd been shot, brown eyes wide and stunned.

"Weird name," Dawn commented. She peeked at Angel curiously from the corner of her eye. He looked like he was gonna hurl. She wondered briefly if vamps did that, and then grimaced at the 'blood fountain' image that planted itself in her head. _Ew__, gross! Nice one, Dawn._ "So," she hedged. "What's the trauma? It's a girl, right? Who is she?"

"As far as I can tell she was…"

"No!"

Giles' explanation was cut off by Angel's sharp outburst. The vampire was shaking his head, as emotional as the Watcher had even seen him.

"Don't." He shot a glance at Dawn, conveying that his concern was not for his own welfare, but for that of the teenaged Slayer. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Please?"

"Later then," Giles relented. This was obviously a painful subject, and one that the vampire had managed to avoid for decades. Nevertheless, it was also one that needed to be discussed at the earliest opportunity.

Angel nodded. His already pale skin was now ashen, drawn taut and waxy with the strain of containing the untold devastation within. It made him look quite ill.

"Will you be alright?" Giles wasn't certain what compelled him to ask; a sliver of guilt sneaking in, perhaps, though not nearly enough for him to completely drop his hard-line stance against the vampire.

Angel let out a humorless bark of laughter. "I doubt it." He turned on his heel and walked out.

Dawn stared after him. "Congratulations, Giles," she applauded dryly. "He was finally starting to lighten up, being all fun and jokey and stuff, and then _wham!_ You turn him back into the über-mope."

"Inevitable, I'm afraid," he told her. "Angel has countless evils to atone for and this…" He looked down at the book's buckskin cover, running his fingers over its weathered surface. "This would have to be one of the very worst."

-x-

Spike sensed Angel the moment he entered the cemetery.

It was odd that the old man was about, he and Nibblet having taken the early shift and all. He heaved a dramatic sigh and glanced at the newly-risen vampire that he was holding by the scuff of the neck. "Sires, eh?" he asked in a rare moment of camaraderie. "Always the bane of your existence."

The vamp shrugged, confusion obvious even with his game-face on, and Spike staked him in disgust.

"Bloody hell," he complained, brushing dust off his dark denim jacket. "Is a spot of decent conversation too much to ask from you people? Nobody has any standards at all these days; they just up and turn the first blithering, pea-brained idiot they come across." A smirk curled his lips. "Speakin' of which…"

The blonde strolled off in the direction where Angel's signature was the strongest. He absently dusted another fledgling as he passed the Snyder tomb, and then back-tracked to appraise the dissipating cloud.

"Well, well. Numbers are on the up. Must be getting' close to the big day."

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Buffy's dread was like a lead weight on his chest, but his own feelings were less clear. On the one hand, he was terrified, but on the other was a certainty that Seth could handle anything the Hellmouth had to throw at him, much the same as his mother always had.

He moved on, only to come to a halt at the edge of a clearing to watch Angel wandering aimlessly through the graves. Stupid pillock wasn't even looking where he was going. Good way to be ambushed given the current size of the demon population.

"Oi!" he shouted.

Angel stopped, startled, and blinked at him. Spike couldn't be certain, but those looked like tear tracks on the big guy's face.

_Wonder what's got him all maudlin this time?_

As he moved closer, he found himself asking despite himself. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Angel sighed heavily, realizing how idiotic that sounded given his obvious emotional state, and wedged his hands into his pockets. "No, you're right, there_ is_ something. I just really don't want to talk about it."

Spike sucked in his cheeks and studied the other vamp with some concern. "Is there anything I can do?"

"What are you -?" Angel narrowed his eyes. "Are you actually being nice to me?"

"I dunno." Spike scratched at his scarred brow. "S'pose I am. Must be Buffy's influence."

"Well, that's just… kind of sad."

"Oh, like you're one to throw stones." Spike's voice picked up an octave as he mimed holding a phone. _"'Yes, Cordy. No, Cordy. Three bags full, Cordy.'' _He snorted. "Bloody whipped, you are."

Angel sighed again, hard and deep, ducking his head. "Yeah."

Spike flexed his hands, almost giving in to an itch to shake some sense into the daft old git the same way Buffy yearned to. He hopped up to sit on a nearby headstone instead, banging his boot-heels against the fancy inscription in a muted little _ba-dum__ ba-dum _beat. If he couldn't do the shaking part, he could at least annoy the hell out of him.

"Well, come on then," he urged. "Unburden yourself."

"I said I didn't want to talk about it."

"And all that moanin' and groanin' you're doing is tellin' me otherwise." Spike rolled his hand in a gesture of further encouragement. "Go ahead. Spill it."

Neither spoke, regarding one another in challenge, each waiting for the other to break first.

"You've killed Slayers," Angel finally blurted after a long pause. "How do you deal with it?"

Spike drumming feet stopped abruptly and he frowned. "You done something recently that I should know about?"

"Not recently, no. 1898."

"Year of the curse." The younger vamp tipped his chin, blue eyes glinting with sudden insight. "Huh. That gypsy bird you offed – she was a Slayer."

"She was." Angel gazed up at the darkened sky, murmuring the name in a reverent undertone. "Saskia Kaldera."

"Oh, yeah, right." Spike nodded. "Those cunning coppersmiths of Romania, the Kalderash Clan. Seem to recall snacking on a few family members myself at the time. Demon's got to eat."

"But that's not the same thing. What I did to that girl was more than… It was terrible. Monstrous."

"Fitting description for monsters. Because that's what we were, if you'd care to remember properly."

"You weren't. The Power's left you with that 'moral centre' thing. You would never have made her suffer like that. You wouldn't have drawn it out for hours and hours and…"

"No, I wouldn't have," Spike agreed. "Proved that for a fact two years after when I went and did a Slayer of my own."

Now that he thought about it, Angel's grudging, "I guess that makes you one of us" made a hell of a lot more sense provided the new information. Hadn't quite got what he'd been going on about at the time.

"Good old fashioned hand-to-hand that was," he continued, smiling softly. "Blade and brawl, fists and fangs. First time I really got a taste for it."

"The killing?"

"The dance. My whole purpose after that was to live for the dance. Led me right here to my sunshine girl and the Nipper. Can't say as I regret any of it."

"I regret everything," Angel whispered.

"Well, you need to let that go," Spike told him. "It's makin' you look old."

"I _can't_." The older vamp barely managed to choke the words out. "And now Giles knows… He'll tell Dawn and Buffy, and then Cordy will find out. They'll all hate me."

Spike shrugged. "Hate to break it to ya, mate, but Buffy knew the second I did." He paused, considering. "In point of fact, I think she may've twigged first."

"Oh." In all the misery, Angel had forgotten that aspect of their link. He winced, anticipating the worst. "She doesn't…?"

"Give the girl _some_ credit. If she didn't hate you after Angelus' big ending-the-world rampage all those years ago, she's not about to start now," Spike scoffed. "Neither is Cordelia, for that matter. For some ungodly reason, that bird loves you. One more black mark on your bloody history books isn't going to make a bit of difference to her."

"I wish I could be so sure."

"Angel, it was over a century ago. If you'd been the one to top Faith, then you might have a problem, but you weren't. Times past, you wouldn't've thought twice about it."

"I wouldn't even have thought once about it."

Spike jabbed a finger at him. "There. See?"

"Still, Giles is making out like I've betrayed him or something, like I'm Angelus again all of a sudden."

The Watcher's attitude pained Angel far more than he'd believed possible. He'd thought they'd finally been able to put the unforgiving specter of Jenny Calendar's death behind them and become, if not friends, then respected colleagues. Time obviously hadn't healed that wound as well as he'd thought.

"And I _really_ don't want Dawn to know."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Well now, isn't that interesting?"

"What?"

"You're afraid."

"Of what?"

"That you'll shatter her pretty little rose-colored specs."

"That's a part of it I guess," Angel admitted. "A small part. She's so unaffected by the evil around her, and I'm flattered that she …likes me, really, but she's also totally dedicated to her calling. If she finds out, she might up and stake me for killing one of her kind."

"Not bloody likely." Spike's lean face twisted in derision. "Nibblet's a nice enough chit, but she's a hard time tryin' to find the business end of her sharp-and-pointys, let alone have the stones to dust the one bloke in the world who makes her pure young heart go all pitter-pat."

"Buffy did it."

"Buffy's different," Spike stated flatly. "In too many ways to count."

"The whole damn thing is different," Angel persisted. "You have to be aware of that. That innocent little gypsy girl was the protector of her people and I destroyed her."

"Couldn't have been as innocent as all that. She _was_ a Slayer."

Angel continued on as though he hadn't heard the comment. "That's even what her name really meant, you know. 'Protector of mankind'. I looked it up."

Spike grinned ingenuously. "Want to know what my name means?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "You're deliberately trying to get on my nerves now, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah." The younger vamp hopped off his gravestone perch and stood toe-to-toe with his Sire, peering questioningly into his eyes. "Is it working?"

"No." A beat, and then, "Actually, yes."

"Good." With a curt nod, Spike was off again, cutting a swaggering swathe through the field of stone markers. "I've had about all I can stand of your ridiculous self-flagellation, Peaches," he called back over his shoulder. "Do us all a favor and get over it."

-x-

Xander leant back into the sofa cushions and closed his eyes, intending to rest them only for a second. He hated these late night meetings; being dragged from his cozy bed with its cozy covers and his cozy dreams, and into the harsh reality of life on the Hellmouth. He was just gladder than glad that it hadn't been anything to do with Buck. His son was safe, slumbering away upstairs in Buffy and Spike's spare room.

_Mmm, slumber…_

He jerked upright as he was punched back to awareness by his wife. Now his shoulder was stinging. Rude awakenings sucked. "Okay, one - ouch," he said, rubbing the injury. "And two - I _wasn't_ asleep!"

"You were so," Anya said. "You were starting to do that irritating snorty thing with your nose."

"Huh? What snorty thing? I do _not_ snort!"

Willow tittered from her spot in the guest armchair. "Yeah, you do."

"Fortunately it wasn't really loud yet, so I saved you the embarrassment of making unpleasant nostril noises in front of your friends." Anya beamed.

Xander glanced around the room. Apart from Anya and himself, only Willow and Spike were present. "Spike doesn't count as one of my friends," he said, and was somewhat surprised when the vampire actually looked hurt by the jibe. He smiled broadly before adding, "He's _family_."

Spike blinked. "When exactly did this happen?"

"I guess about the same time that Buffy decided you weren't dust-in-the-wind material."

The vampire mulled over this unexpected new development. "I don't get a say in the matter then?"

"Sorry, oh Bleached-buddy, all Scooby adoptions are consult-free and absolutely non-negotiable. We also accept no refunds."

"That old chestnut about not bein' able to choose your relatives, eh?" Spike shook his head. "Wish I'd known that before I got into this gig. Might've had a different result altogether."

"Bull-pucky."

"Did you just say -?"

Xander ploughed onward, ignoring the interruption. "There is no way on God's great earth you would have been able to stay away from the Buffster and you know it."

"_Bull-pucky_?" Spike mouthed, incredulous and unable to speak the words aloud for fear of sounding like a wanker.

"He tries to refrain from using curse words," Anya explained, patting her husband's arm. "Buck started repeating him at inopportune moments."

Spike snorted and Willow pointed at him.

"You sound something like that when you're asleep," she told Xander, "Only more nasally."

"Stuffier," Anya offered sagely. "And sometimes there's this little whistle."

Willow nodded.

Spike snorted again and burrowed deeper into his chair, trying to distance himself from their ridiculousness.

Xander looked horrified. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Buffy asked, walking in on the tail-end of the conversation. Even though she'd been monitoring most of the proceedings through the link while she'd been upstairs, she'd been too distracted by Seth's latest bout of insomnia to worry about the details of the last few minutes.

Spike thrust his chin toward Xander. "Harris was just amusin' us with tales of his talented nose."

"Oh." Buffy paused, debating whether she even wanted to know what that meant considering the source. Deciding in the favor of no, she got right to business. "I guess you're all wondering why you're here."

"Spent the last decade wondering that, pet," Spike commented. "Dedicate an hour every afternoon to the cause."

She smiled, loving that he was trying to lighten the mood. "I see. So, you're not actually using that time to watch Passions?"

"'Course not," he replied blandly. "Meditation is what that is, a touch of the old navel-gazing. Light from the telly helps me concentrate is all."

"Hmm" Buffy decided to let that go. They had more pressing matters to attend to than Spike's wacky viewing habits. "So, again, the reason I called you all over in the middle of the night is because there's some pretty big stuff we've kept on the Q.T. and since bits and pieces have been leaking out all over, it's time to get the whole lot out in the open."

"Wow, really?" Willow seemed relieved.

Buffy smiled and nodded. "Yeah. You're off the hook with the secret-keeping, Will"

"Phew. Thanks. I was starting to get all jittery with the pressure."

Xander looked at her with narrowed eyes. "I'm guessing you got exposed to some of the leaky bits?"

"Oh, yeah, but - but not because I'm, you know, more in-the-loopy than you. They only told me so I wouldn't spill to Lydia." Her face scrunched up guiltily. "Not that I was going to, she just kinda suckered me into doing some snooping."

Anya shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. "I told you," she sniffed. "Didn't I tell you? Never trust a Watcher."

"What about Giles?" Buffy asked, frowning. "He's still a Watcher. He's _my _Watcher. Why do I have to keep reminding people of that?"

"I don't need reminding," Anya said bluntly. "I'm aware of his position and I choose not to trust_ him_ either. I never have and I never will, especially not now when he's lusting after the other one."

_"What?"_

The cry came in a simultaneous burst; Willow, Xander and Buffy were all horrified, Spike was just amused.

Anya didn't even blink. "Why are you so shocked? It's quite obvious, actually. I recognize all the signs. Besides, he's a man, she's a woman. They're single, repressed and British and share many other common interests; it's only natural that they would want intercourse."

The Slayer wrinkled her nose. "Ew."

"Anya!" Xander clapped a hand over his eyes. "No! God, bad visual. Must. Stop. Thinking…"

Spike smirked. "You'd have to start first."

Xander peered at him through his fingers. "Hey!"

Buffy mumbled something under her breath that sounded like 'Stevedore' and Spike suddenly exploded into laughter.

Her mouth twitched involuntarily in an answering grin. "Band candy," was all she said in way of an explanation. It only made him laugh harder.

Xander pulled his hand completely away from his eyes to stare at the hysterical vampire. "Now there's something you don't see every day."

"Unless you're me," Buffy said. "Contrary to popular opinion, Spike's not the Big Bad 24-7; he also spends a lot of his time being a doofus." Sighing, she pinched at the bridge of her nose. "Where was I before I was so very sickeningly interrupted?"

"About to spill some beans," Willow supplied fervently, eager to be rid of her top secret burden. "Now. Please?"

Spike abruptly shot up in his seat, eyes riveted to the ceiling, sober as a judge despite the residual happy-tears trickling down his lean cheeks. A distracted pointer finger came up to wave in her direction. "Hold that thought," he said. In less than a blink, he was on his way up the stairs.

Buffy's own gaze was pinned to the ceiling now, worry lines creasing her forehead. She looked older all of a sudden, weighed down with every last one of her twenty-six years. "God, I hate this."

Willow got up and crossed to her side, throwing an arm around the Slayer's slumped shoulders. No matter what, she would always be the supportiest of supportive best-friends. "I know how much you wanted everything to be perfectly perfect and normal, Buffy, but…"

"…This is the Hellmouth. I know. I got the full 'cosmic destiny' memo a long time ago, Will. There's no normal for me. Or Spike. I just… I'd hoped…" She didn't finish that sentence. She couldn't. What she'd hoped for didn't apply anymore.

Xander cleared his throat. "Um, not to sound on the bad side of informed, but what the hell is going on here?"

"It's Seth," Willow explained. "He's…"

She was cut off by an enormous crashing sound. They all rushed into the foyer to see Spike flying into upper landing. He bounced off the wall and rattled head-long down the stairs, his shoulders jolting over each step. He landed at the bottom with a thud, face down and unconscious.

"Daddy!" Seth miraculously appeared at his father's side. They'd been so engrossed in Spike's spectacular descent they hadn't realized he was being followed. The little boy was barefoot, dressed in rumpled blue pajamas and clutching Mr. Gordo by one of his pointy stuffed-pig ears. "I didn't mean it." He looked up at Buffy with luminous golden eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, my sweet heaven," Xander breathed.

Buffy crouched at her son's side. "It's alright, baby. Daddy's gonna be just fine. You didn't hurt him. Okay?"

"I didn't mean it," Seth repeated, fat tears spilling over. "I didn't."

"It's okay." Buffy pulled him into her arms. "Everything's okay. We're not mad at you."

Spike groaned, rolled over onto his back and blinked up at the circle of Scooby faces. "Bloody hell, what're you lot staring at?"

"Nothing." Xander held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. He was smart enough these days to know when his opinion wasn't wanted. Right now was a case in point. "Nope. Not us. Didn't see a thing."

Anya, who'd been slowed by her pregnancy and had only just arrived on the scene, peered past him with keen-eyed interest. He turned and ushered her back into the living room before she could put voice to her own unwanted opinions.

Buffy ignored them and squeezed Seth's shoulder reassuringly. "See? Daddy's fine. He's swearing again and everything." She gave her husband the evil eye. "Which he _shouldn't_. Ever again."

Spike coughed out a laugh. "Right, love. Whatever you say." He pushed up into a sitting position and eyed his son warily. "Alright Nip?"

Seth stared back. "Alright?" he parroted softly.

"Yeah. I'm good." The blonde vamp reached out and clasped the boy's forearm, raising the tiny hand for closer inspection. "Packs quite the punch for somethin' so small," he mused. "There's a lot of raw power there." He glanced over at Buffy. "Needs some proper training, though."

She gazed at him for a long minute, taking the opportunity to read the link and discover the circumstances of this latest upset for herself.

Apparently Seth had been awake again, and making an attempt at escaping through his bedroom window to go vamp-hunting. The noise had alerted his father, and when caught in the act Seth had responded intuitively to the threat looming from the darkness, using all his power to drive it away.

Buffy's now-enlightened gaze shifted to her son. "The window, huh?"

Seth shuffled back a few steps, pulling his arm out of Spike's loose grip and holding Mr. Gordo in front of his chest like a shield. "Am I groundered?"

"Ooh yeah."

"A whole week this time," Spike said, rising to his feet and rolling his head from side to side. His neck cracked audibly. "No patrols…"

Buffy winced, a hand going to her own neck. "…And no cartoons," she added.

There was a flare of golden ire in the boy's eyes and it seemed for a brief moment that a tantrum was in the offing, but he simply nodded, accepting his fate without argument. "I'm tired now," he informed them, and then punctuated that statement with a yawn.

Willow smiled. She'd been hovering nearby, concerned about her honorary nephew. "Hey," she said cheerfully. "On the plus side, it looks like beatin' vamps up makes him sleepy too, and not just the dusting part."

Spike stared at her, hard and implacable.

In the face of his continued scrutiny, the witch's smile became more and more uncertain, tugging comically at the corners of her mouth. Up, down, up, down. "Um, that's a bonus, right?"

"Uh-huh." Seth nodded agreeably and blinked at her. "Tuck me in, Auntie Will?"

"If it's okay?"

She crooked hopeful brows at Buffy, who nodded but didn't look back in their direction. For some reason she was unable to drag her attention away from her husband.

Spike frowned, sensing the weight of her unrelenting stare. She was struggling to hide something, throwing up firewalls all over. His tilted his head, lips moving in silent question. _What?_

Before she could answer, Seth caught at his mother's hand, wrapping his small fingers gently around her thumb. She glanced down at him inquiringly.

"Are ya sure you're not mad?" His eyes were blue again now, and so much like Spike's that Buffy's heart almost broke at the sight. "I don't want'cha to be mad," he said earnestly. ""Cause I'm tryin' ta be a normal kid, Mommy. I'm tryin' real hard."

The walls crumbled and Buffy promptly burst into tears.

… TBC

**_A/N:_**_ I was going to post a little note here apologizing for the lateness of this chapter, but it seemed redundant. I'll let the chapter speak for itself. The plot bunny regarding Angel's history with Slayers has been brewing since I watched 'Damage' (I'm obsessed with that episode for some reason). Of all the things that tipped him off about Dana being a Slayer, it was that she was yelling about being chosen… in Romanian! How did he know that? Coincidence, I say 'nay'. I wasn't planning on using it in this story, but it wrangled its way in anyhow and now I've had to weave the rest of the story around it. Stay tuned for more. __Dee_


	7. Guidance

-7-

GUIDANCE

Angel had walked Dawn to the entrance of the hotel car park after patrol and she was reeling from the sweet little chuck under the chin he'd given her before he'd disappeared into the night, leaving her to wander towards her room under her own giddy, head-in-the-clouds, hormone-induced steam. Never mind that the gesture made her feel about as big as Buffy and Spike's ankle-biter, or that he'd still had demon innards smeared on his fingers – he'd actually touched her! Voluntarily!

She was still all aquiver when she let herself into the room. Leaning back against the closed door to try and regain some of her lost equilibrium, and to stop her knees from shaking, she didn't notice at first that Lydia was on the phone. Not until the shouting started.

"Now you see here, you pompous _ass_," the Watcher snarled, her control hanging by a thread. The hand that wasn't holding the receiver was clenched in a tight fist and she was perched on the very edge of the bed like she was about to launch herself off it at any second. "I will _not _have you dictating to me like I'm some… some lowly minion!"

Dawn watched with interest as Lydia continued to snark into the handset. It had to be Peter the Great on the other end; she didn't call just anybody names like that, and the Watcher's ex-husband was way up there at the top of the pompous-ass scale.

She waved her hand a little to get Lydia's attention, and after finally getting an agitated eye roll in reply, she belly-flopped onto the other bed and settled in for a good eavesdrop.

"That is not how the Council works and you know it! Father would never have…" Lydia yanked her glasses off and threw them to one side. "Yes, I know you're not him. Believe me, I understand that, Peter…"

Dawn grinned. Score one for the observant Slayer Gal. Definitely his royal stuffiness Sir Peter Sherwood on the line. The grin turned into a conspiratorial giggle as Lydia mouthed the word "ass" at her with exaggerated precision.

"The biggest," Dawn agreed, not caring if he heard her or not. The guy was a jerk, first order. She cupped a hand around her mouth and called out, sing-song, "Hel-lo Mis-ter Sherrr-wood."

Lydia snorted at his response. "Well, of course it's Dawn," she said into the phone. "Who else would be in my room at this time of night?" Whatever his answer was this time, it did not make her happy and her voice dropped to subzero temperatures. "That is hardly any of your business." A pause and then evil smirk curved her lips. "Really? And how is Charlotte, may I ask?"

Dawn gave a mock-horrified gasp and then mimed a clawing motion, "Meow."

Lydia waved her off. "Oh, that's lovely," she continued, without a shred of sincerity. "Yes, Dawn is aware that your proper title is Doctor Sherwood, you've certainly told her enough times. Yes. I'm sure. Fine then, goodbye." She hung up and then stared at the phone for a moment. "Wanker."

"I don't even know why you married that guy," Dawn said, rolling onto her back and regarding Lydia from her new upside-down position, hair trailing onto the floor.

"Truthfully, I've been wondering about that myself," Lydia admitted. She searched around for her discarded glasses, finally locating them hanging precariously from a pillow. "In comparison to some of our newer male acquaintances, he's rather… well…"

"Dull?" Dawn asked. "Boring? Uptight? Completely lacking in any sort of studly appeal?"

"All of the above." Lydia replaced her glasses and peered at her charge over the rims. "How was patrol, by the way?"

"It was awesome. Mass carnage on the vamp front, and Angel killed this demony slug-type thing, bare-handed. Like, grrr…" She made some twisty hand gestures to illustrate. "Aargh! Pop! Splat! Slimy viscera all over. You _so_ should have been there."

"Mmm." Lydia contemplated her hands, giving her next words some serious consideration. "Peter wants to come to Sunnydale," she said finally. "He has listed several credible reasons for this, the bottom line being that it's to assess how you're fitting in."

Dawn sat up. "What? No."

"Yes."

"No."

"There is no argument here, Dawn. Peter will be coming to Sunnydale, whether we want him to or not."

"Oh, it's 'not'. It is so very 'not'." The young slayer stood and loomed over her still-seated Watcher. "You have to make them not come."

"Dawn…"

"No!"

Dawn actually stamped her foot in childish protest and Lydia sighed, weary of these tantrums. The girl should have grown out of this stage by now. The Grey boy was better behaved and he was ten years her junior.

"Really, Dawn, you must learn some self-control. Letting your emotions rule your actions like this is not conducive to…"

"It is _so_ conducive," the young Slayer protested. "Buffy's all emotional and actiony and stuff, and she's the best Slayer ever. According to some people."

Angel never failed to mention how good the other slayer was when they were patrolling, always making with the Saint Buffy anecdotes. She knew he was comparing them, and she hated it.

"The opinions of others should not sway your judgment of yourself or your station," Lydia intoned. "The Council…"

"Oh my God, do you ever listen to yourself?" Dawn's eyes were wide with incredulity. "I'm a _teenager_! Of course I'm swayed by other people's opinions. It's like, the rules or something."

"The only rules you should be paying any attention to are the ones I give you. The ones governed by Council guidelines, the ones that have kept the Slayer line active all these years…"

Lydia stopped when she became conscious the absolute drivel she was spouting. She sounded like Peter, or one of those mindless automatons she'd loathed listening to as a Potential.

She sounded like her father.

"Yeah, well the Council's wrong then," Dawn was saying. "They're a bunch of fusty old nobodies stuck in their own deluded fantasy world. They wouldn't know a real demon if it barfed slime on their shoes. And if you'd even pull your head out of those stupid books for two seconds you'd see that too."

Lydia slumped back onto the bed, defeated. She couldn't argue with that. Since arriving in Sunnydale everything she'd been taught to believe had been challenged, stripped down and trampled flat under the weight of William the Bloody's big black biker boots.

She thought of Rupert Giles' sharp wit and steely resolve, the absolute surety he held of his place as rogue Watcher. Then she found herself thinking of his soft blue eyes and she sighed.

Everything they knew was wrong.

-x-

Buffy cupped her chin in the palm of her hand and clock-watched as the last customer of the day left the Magic Box. Since she would be taking over Anya's position at the shop for the next few months while the other woman was taking her maternity leave, she was working some of the twilight shifts during the week to get her hand in. It was the practical thing to do. Responsible.

As boring as hell.

She sighed and wandered lethargically toward the door, intending to flip the sign and close up as quickly as possible. She wanted to get home to Seth and Spike. Maybe take a quick patrol on the way to shake off the cobwebs from her day of retail drudgery.

The door swung open before she was halfway there.

Buffy blinked. "Sorry. We're closed."

Angel frowned at her. "What?"

"Closed," she repeated, continuing around him to lock the door. "As in 'not open'." She gave him a once over and wrinkled her nose. "And you're all covered with demon goop."

Angel inspected the dark purple streaks on his hands, and then glanced down at the matching splatter on his coat. "What's your point?"

"Well it's…" Buffy sighed. "Never mind. Come on, I'll get you a towel or something."

He trailed after her into the training room, and she peeked over her shoulder at him, wondering what was up. From what she'd understood of the conversation he'd had with Spike the other night in the cemetery, it seemed to be a little more involved than some residual guilt about a long-dead Gypsy Slayer.

"So," she said, opening a linen closet and handing him one of Spike's ratty old work-out towels. "How're you doing?"

He didn't answer her, concentrating just a tad overmuch on scrubbing the stains from his fingers.

Buffy raised a brow. "Out damn spot?" she asked dryly.

Angel froze mid-scrub and, realizing what he'd been doing, tucked the towel behind his back.

She snorted at his reaction. "That must be a guy thing. Spike does the exact same thing when he's trying to hide stuff. Seth, too." She leant forward, sharing a secret. "It doesn't work, you know."

"What doesn't? The scrubbing or the hiding?"

"Either." She crossed her arms and regarded him with that uncannily Spike-like head tilt that they all seemed to have picked up. "Do you want to talk about it or not? If you don't, I'm not gonna to push, I promise."

Angel toyed with the terrycloth in his hands, unraveling one of the frayed edges. "Spike's gonna hear this, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Not a whole lot I can do about that. Oh, unless…" She went quiet, drifting off into link-land.

Angel studied her. It was remarkable how she was willing to let go like that with him in the room. He realized with a strange kind of detachment that he could just reach out and tear her head off while she was zonked-out, and she wouldn't even feel it. Not that he was planning to; it was just that the amount of trust there was unexpected. Miraculous really, especially considering that such a disturbingly brutal thought had even crossed his mind in the first place.

Buffy roused, staring at him in confusion for a moment before all her systems came back online. "Hi."

"You're back."

"Uh-huh. Here's the deal. Spike's gonna hold off for a bit. He'll still be lurking around back here," she waved her fingers behind her head, "but he won't really be listening in."

Angel just looked at her.

"He won't." Buffy held up her hand. "Scout's honor. He's got a session with Seth anyway, so he'll be all distracted and stuff."

"You're training Seth now?"

"Yep. There was this… _thing_ the other night where he kind of pushed Spike down the stairs. He doesn't quite get his own strength yet so, hence, training." She poked a finger into his chest. "And don't think I don't know what you're doing with the question thing, Mister Avoidy."

Angel sighed. She had him pegged. He wondered if she'd become so perceptive because she was a mother now, or because of her link to Spike. The other vampire was especially sharp in that regard, always had been.

Buffy was still watching him. "It isn't just that stuff about that Slayer you killed, is it?"

"No it's not." Angel took a few steps back and collapsed onto the sofa. "It's about the other Slayer I killed."

"The other…?" Buffy was shocked. "There's more?"

"Not like that. Not directly."

Buffy squinted, trying to figure out the cryptic. She finally got a hint from Spike, who was right on the ball despite his vow to stay out of it. "This is about Faith."

"I'm responsible for her death." There was no doubt in Angel's voice. He was convinced of this. "It was my fault."

-x-

Spike pursed his lips and stared at Seth.

The boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet, amber-eyed and grinning, hyper from sparring. It was eerily like seeing himself in a funhouse mirror, one of those wobbly ones that made you look all short and stout. He didn't know whether to be miffed or chuffed at the realization.

They were situated on the rug in the centre of the living room, all the furniture having been pushed to the walls after a particularly enthusiastic parry had resulted in the loss of another of Joyce's arty curios, one that Spike had actually been quite fond of. He was kneeling now, Seth before him with his fists up in a traditional boxing stance. Disappointingly, the boy wasn't showing any signs of being a southpaw like his old man.

Spike raised his own hands, both of which were padded up, the right in a baseball glove and the left in a cheery yellow oven mitt.

"Right then," he said. "Once more from the top. Left, right, jab, jab. An' remember not to drop your shoulder."

Seth did as told, a look of such extreme concentration on his face that Spike amended his earlier observation. He looked like his mother when he did that.

After a final hard jab that just about snapped Spike's hand off at the wrist, Seth stepped back and brushed a sweaty curl off his forehead. "Hey, how come I hafta train and vamps already know all this stuff?"

"Never thought that much about it, Nip." Spike frowned, shaking his hand so that the oven mitt dropped off and gingerly flexing his fingers. The boy'd bruised him. "Demon's got a natural inclination for a bit of crash and bash, I suppose," he speculated aloud. "All that rage, a taste for violence… it's not much of a step for 'em to harness that so it's more effective." He shrugged. "That's how it worked for me, anyway. Took a good long while to hone it to a point, though. 'S not like our William was ever one for gettin' physical."

Seth ducked his head and began picking at the tape on his knuckles. "So, I'm a demon?"

Spike, still musing on the first question and somewhat distracted by Angel and Buffy's little heart-to-heart back at the Magic Box, almost didn't hear him. "What's that now?"

"I'm a demon then, huh?"

"What?" Spike gaped at his son, horrified. "God, no. What kind of daft question is that?"

"Auntie Will says I'm a high-bridge. That I'm mixed up from you 'n Mom, and you're still sort of a vamp, and she's…"

"You are _not _a demon," Spike gritted, determined that he get the Nip's mind set straight about this once and for all. He was of a mind to wring Red's neck for putting these doubts in his boy's head. He dropped down on his backside and pulled Seth forward into the 'V' of his legs so that they were eye to eye. "I don't want to hear that from you, alright? Demons are evil. I used to be a vampire, so I know something about evil. You're not evil. You're the most special, beautiful boy in the world and we love you. Okay?"

"Am not boot-full," Seth grumbled. "That's for _girls_."

"Point taken." Spike searched his son's eyes. "But you get what I'm saying, yeah?"

"Yeah." There was a pause and then the boy punched his father in the shoulder with enough force to make him skid backward a few inches. "Ding, ding! Let's get ready to rumble!"

"Right." Spike awkwardly dragged the oven mitt back on one-handed. "Round two it is."

-x-

The next day had brought with it a new and exciting teen-Slayer mood. Dawn had been suffering from a double dose of tense and twitchy all morning, a side-effect from the day before.

Last night had been great; unbelievably great actually, what with the Angel-touching and the slayage and all, right up to the point where Lydia had told her that the Council was coming. Everything had gone downhill from there.

To say that she didn't like the Council was an understatement. She hated them with a passion. Loathed them, despised them. They made her feel uncomfortable, and they stared at her funny and made notes; lots and lots of notes.

Now, to make matters worse, something was up with the Scoobies and they were staring at her funny, too.

She flipped over a page of the history book that she wasn't really reading and glanced up at Anya and Xander who were engaged in a whispered conversation at the counter. They both looked startled and a little guilty before abruptly clamming up and giving her identical fake grins, all pasted on like a pair of psycho clowns.

Dawn frowned and closed the book. "Okay, what's up with you guys?"

If anything, Xander's smile got even wider, along with his eyes as he tried to act innocent. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing's up." He blinked rapidly and attempted to change the subject. "So how goes the studying?"

Dawn snorted. "Oh, right, like you care so much about my educational development." She sat back and folded her arms. "Were you talking about me?"

"No. Of course not." Xander was suspiciously shifty-eyed in denial. "Don't be silly there, Dawnster."

"We were talking about sex," Anya offered baldly. "We were only doing it quietly because there are certain facts about pregnancy sex that aren't for teenage ears."

"You were talking about me." It wasn't a question this time. It was quite obvious to Dawn that they were hiding something from her. Something big.

"Again, not so much." Xander gave the psycho-clown smile another shot. It was spectacularly ineffective. "In fact, none."

Dawn pushed away from the table and stalked towards the training room. "I'm gonna find out, you know. And then you'll be sorry."

Xander grimaced as she slammed the door behind her, so hard the framework creaked. Several more loud thumps filled the ensuing silence that he assumed were from an attack on the heavy punching bag. "Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of."

Anya drummed her fingers on her stomach, scrutinizing the door with a critical eye. "Do you think we can charge her for damages to the hinges?"

-x-

Willow hated when she had to sub. She didn't like going into a class that was only half-prepared, that hadn't been molded to her liking from the very beginning. It sort of made it worse that Dawn was going to be one of those un-molded students. She'd never had to teach a slayer before. Well, apart from some Buffy-tutoring a long, long time ago.

Okay, now she felt old.

With one final scowl at the sheet, she dumped her class-planner on the coffee table and crawled onto the sofa. She curled into Tara's side, tucked her head under her chin and sighed in contentment. It was here, when she was happy and warm, that she did her clearest thinking.

"Do you think we should do a spell?" she asked suddenly and felt Tara tense beneath her cheek.

"For what?" Tara's voice was quietly curious, but held within it just a hint of trepidation. She was well aware of how Willow's need to help often got tangled up in some ill-conceived magic.

"For Dawn. You know, make it so she's not so much with the hysterical rampaging Slayerness when she finds out that she's not all Prophecy Girl like she thought."

"I think it's better if Dawn works through that for herself, sweetie. She'll probably be better for it." Tara brushed Willow's hair away from her forehead and gave her a light kiss. "No people spells, okay?"

"Sure, okay."

Willow replied easily enough, but if Tara had been more alert she'd have realized that she really didn't sound all that convincing.

…TBC


	8. Demonstration

-8-

DEMONSTRATION

Spike knew with a certainty just what to make of Dr. Peter Sherwood the moment he laid eyes on him. He was a complete and utter wanker.

"Well, it does take one to know one," Buffy taunted him through the link, a touch of glee in her tone.

Spike eyed her darkly. "Shut it, Slayer."

Buffy snickered.

They were leaning against the Magic Box counter; side by side, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankle, presenting a united front to the enemy. A sort of 'we don't care if you're here, but one false move and you're dead' front.

From the study table, Sherwood smiled at them like a traveling salesman with one foot in the door, oily and smooth. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Grey, did have something of import to offer to the conversation?"

Lydia snorted into her cup of tea. "It's most likely that he was calling you a wanker," she said. "A common reaction for most on first meeting you, I'm sure."

Spike didn't know whether to laugh or be horrified that the chit had gotten to know him so well in so short a time. Was he that obvious?

Buffy turned her head and gave him her infamous 'Are you kidding me?' look. He didn't earn it often; it was usually reserved exclusively for Giles.

There you had it then, he really was that obvious. Who knew?

Spike shrugged and directed his attention back to the wanker in question. The eminent Doctor Sherwood – and he had insisted most vehemently on the title - was a tall, thin rake of a man, as neat as a new pin in his requisite tweed jacket. He had watercolor grey eyes and a head of baby-fine red-blonde hair which had been parted neatly on one side. A thin little moustache lurked over his thin lips, the same lips that were still curved in that irritating know-it-all smile.

He was sycophantic and insipid and Spike wanted to kill him. Slowly.

"Ooh! And make it really _painful_," Buffy murmured, hitching a ride on his train of thought. She inched closer so that their folded arms were touching and nudged him with her elbow. "He gives me the wiggins too, you know. Makes old man Travers look like Mr. Rogers."

Spike drew a blank. "Who's Mr. Rogers?"

Buffy gave him another incredulous look, opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again and shook her head. "No, never mind."

Spike picked up a vague, mystifying reference to woolly cardigans through the link but quickly scrapped the notion of any further questioning on the subject. Some of the things in his Slayer's head were just too disturbing for words.

He was saved from further consideration by his son, who came barreling through the shop's door in the next second. Fortunately, given their present company, he was only moving at a marginally faster speed than any normal five year old would. Xander wandered in behind him, Buck perched on his shoulders.

"Spike!" Seth slammed to a halt when he reached his father, sneakers screeching in protest, narrowly avoiding a collision. He froze and stared at the unfamiliar group of people sitting at the table. "Whoa. Whoosat?"

Spike glanced over at the delegation of Watchers, only to catch Sherwood as the man sat up a bit straighter in his chair, those washed-out eyes suddenly all too intent on the little boy.

Buffy caught it too. She shot her husband a quick glance from the corner of her eye and then bent to pick Seth up, cradling him protectively against her side. "These are just some friends of Lydia's," she explained breezily.

Seth quirked his eyebrow at her, clearly skeptical, and she almost laughed at how much he looked like his father in that moment. All he needed was a scar slashing through that brow and their expressions would have been identical.

"And who do we have here?" Sherwood got to his feet and approached the family, towering over them with that unctuous smile firmly in place. "Hello, young man. My name is Dr. Sherwood. You may call me Peter, if you like."

Seth eyed the proffered hand with the same skepticism he'd just afforded his mother. He ignored it and burrowed tighter into her arms. "I don't like that man," he announced, head on her shoulder. "Make him go 'way."

Buffy bit her lip. If the Watcher was setting Seth's spidey sense off, then something was definitely of the not good here. She gave Sherwood a tight smile. "He's shy."

"Of course. I do understand."

What he didn't do was move away.

Spike bristled, all his protective instincts kicking in with a vengeance. Buffy's discomfort added an extra kick to the mix and he growled without even meaning to.

Sherwood stared at him, startled or fascinated, it was difficult to tell.

Spike stepped defiantly into Sherwood's personal space, glaring up at the taller man. Despite the almost comical difference in their heights, there was no mistaking which of them posed the bigger danger. "Back the hell off, Lofty."

"I beg your pardon?"

Lydia had had enough. "For heaven's sake Peter, come and sit down. He views your presence as a threat to his family and you're only making it worse by looming at them like that."

"Yes, of course." The moment stretched taut as Sherwood remained motionless, locked in a silent standoff with the vampire. A few more tense seconds passed before he finally blinked and stepped back, bowing his head in deference to the Alpha Male. "My apologies."

Spike continued to glare, his hostile blue gaze not leaving the senior watcher even once he'd rejoined his fellow boffins at the study table. One of the nameless cronies even went so far as to pat him on the back as he sat down, as though offering congratulations.

Spike rocked on the balls of his feet, fists clenching, wrestling with the urge to tear their heads off and redecorate the room with the blood from their big, bulging brainstems.

"Daddy?" Seth reached out fretfully.

Buffy immediately transferred the boy to his father's custody. She watched for a second while he snuggled against Spike's chest, both of them noticeably calmed by the contact, and then approached the table herself in full-on defensive Slayer mode. "Okay, what the hell was that?"

Lydia made a half-hearted move to intercept. "Buffy…"

Buffy put a hand on Lydia's shoulder and pushed her back into her seat. "Park it, Tweed Girl. I'm talking to the good doctor here."

"My dear Mrs. Grey," Sherwood began in a patronizing tone, "I wish no disrespect, but I don't…"

Buffy placed both hands on the table and leant in, green eyes sparking with amber. She spoke very deliberately. "Stay away from my family."

"Again, Mrs. Grey, I really…"

The Slayer snarled in his face, the demonic light in her eyes flaring even brighter. "Stay. Away."

Sherwood studied her with the same startled fascination he'd earlier leveled at Spike. He seemed to realize he was staring and shook it off, face flushing slightly at the rare loss of composure. "Ah, yes. I believe that is a stipulation we can agree on," he conceded.

Buffy snorted and gave Lydia a sympathetic look. "Well, if nothing else, I can see why you weren't all that upset about the divorce."

The other woman laughed. "Oh, you have no idea."

"Man, they sure do breed 'em stupid across the pond," Xander declared, earning objections from all sides. It was only then he realized that the English outnumbered the Americans in the room. "And over here too apparently." He waved a hand. "Case in point."

Buck patted him supportively on the head, perpetually sticky fingers tangling in his father's hair. "You're smart, Daddy."

"Well, thank you, Buckaroo. You are too."

Seth giggled into Spike's shirtfront. "You rhymed, Uncle Xan."

The vampire peered down at his son, lower lip growing suspiciously pouty. "Hey, I can rhyme."

Buffy regarded him over her shoulder. "No."

"What?"

"No poetry in public," she said. "Wasn't that the rule?"

Spike's eyes widened and he shot a panicked look in Xander's direction. "Don't recall any mention of poetry, love." _Don't say it, Slayer, don't you dare say it…_

She grinned, quite evilly in his opinion. "Oh? Sorry. My bad."

Lydia made a mental note to ask Giles about the exchange. There was a story there that he may be able to shed some light on. It was also extremely interesting to her how the little family acted when they felt threatened. There was an awareness that seemed to spread from one to the next, as if the adult's link was somehow extending to the boy, or if he was drawing on it himself, using it to create a kind of bridge.

As always there was more happening there than they were letting her know about, but it also wasn't the time to be broaching either topic.

"If you're all quite through posturing, I'd like to continue with the briefing."

Spike gave her one of the frostiest looks she could recall been on the receiving end of, and that was saying something given that Peter was one of the coldest fish she'd ever encountered. She'd never seen a blue so icy outside of the Arctic Circle.

"Do you have a problem with that, Spike?"

"No." Buffy answered for him, riding roughshod over his own guttural dismissal of the question. "No, he doesn't. No problem. Right?" This last obviously aimed at at her husband, though she didn't make any effort to turn around and ask directly.

"Apparently not," he drawled. He hefted Seth a little higher in his arms, and walked off towards the training room without saying another word, effectively dismissing them.

"Well, he's rather headstrong, wouldn't you say?" Sherwood sounded absurdly pleased about it.

"Hey, buddy, you wanna see headstrong, you should try living at my place for a while." Xander swung Buck down from his shoulders, and watched indulgently as the little boy scampered off to the training room after the others.

Buffy smiled, moving back to stand at her friend's side, wanting to be as far from the table as she could get. "Anya kick you out again?"

"Ooh yeah. Something about arrogant foreigners hijacking her store, and rampaging terrorist children…" Xander grimaced. "Oh, and you may be getting a bill for damages in the mail, by the way."

"What? Why?" Buffy's eyes goggled in alarm.

"It was just a novelty cookie jar, Buff. Don't sweat it." He dipped his head to whisper in her ear. "Regular kid-like shenanigans, okay? Nothing superpowery."

Buffy nodded, shot a quick glance at the training room door, and then reclaimed her position leaning against the counter. "So… Which jar was it?"

"Homer's head."

"Damn. I liked that one."

-x-

Spike stopped dead two steps inside the training room, the door slamming shut behind him. Giles was seated on one of the old sofas in the lounge area, staring into an otherwise untouched cup of tea. "Didn't realize the place was occupied."

The Watcher blinked up at the new arrivals. "Oh, Spike. You're here." A vague smile flitted across his lips. "Hello Seth."

Seth made a face. "Whassa matter, Poppy G? Don'tcha like the creepy guy neither?"

Giles looked to the vampire for clarification. "Creepy guy?"

"Jadis's ex-honey."

If anything Giles' frown deepened. "Spike, I'm not in the mood for decoding your nicknames at the best of times…"

The vampire snorted. "Figured you'd know that one. C.S. Lewis. Jadis, Ice Queen of Narnia."

"Oh. Yes, of course."

Spike sprawled onto the opposite sofa, dumping his son alongside. They both slid down on their tailbones and regarded the Watcher with identical piercing gazes before Buck burst in and interrupted them. Seth was up and off like a shot, the two small boys making an unspoken beeline for the fully-stocked box of toys across the room.

Spike didn't budge. "Not like you to miss a literary reference, Rupes. You off your game?"

"'Distracted' would probably be a better way of putting it."

"And you're hiding out back here, why exactly?"

Giles ignored the question. "She's not, you know."

"Didn't follow you around that bend, mate." Spike's head tilted to one side as though trying to do just that.

"Lydia. She's not an ice queen. She's really quite a warm person."

"Gets _you_ hot, anyway." The blonde vamp smirked. "'Bout bloody time, you ask me."

"Nobody did."

Giles finally put his cup of tea down on the low table between them. Spike wanted to make mention of Watchers and their precious brew, seeing as how Lydia was doing much the same thing in the other room, but decided against it. Giles seemed edgy enough, and he didn't want to risk stirring the Ripper.

"Didn't like him," he said instead. "The Watcher bloke."

"Seems to be the popular consensus. I was rather disappointed by the man, myself. For an eminent demonologist he's rather… ignorant of certain facts."

"Like how to remove his head from his sphincter before speaking?"

Giles snuffled with silent laughter. "Yes, quite."

Spike's answering grin came and went in a flash. His head swung round in the direction of the playing children. "Nip…" It was a caution.

Seth went into guilty mode, hands tucking in behind his back. "What?"

Spike held out an imperious hand. "Let's see it."

Before he could comply, Buck reached around and grabbed the misshapen object from his friends keeping. ""S busted," he announced, shaking it. There was a distinct rattling noise and a few shards of broken plastic sprinkled onto the floor. "Oh!" He hunkered down and began sweeping the pieces into a neat pile.

Spike squinted. "Didn't that used to be a gameboy?"

"Yeah." Seth didn't seem to know what to do next. He shuffled his feet. "Sorry?"

Spike brushed the defense aside. "Not your fault. Though I do reckon another lot of lessons in control might come in handy."

"Bloody hell."

"Oi! You mind your tongue, young man."

Seth folded his arms and stared at his father defiantly. "You say it."

"I'm allowed to do a lot of things you're not. That's what makes me the grown-up."

This drew a pout from the boy as he struggled to find a rejoinder. None being forthcoming, he sat down cross-legged on the floor, shoulders hunched, purposely facing away from them. Buck gave him a consoling pat on the back and then went back to tinkering with the toy's remains. He had two piles now, one looking slightly more salvageable than the other, obviously hoping someone would be able to make repairs.

"Shades of Buffy." Giles smiled at Seth's bratty behavior.

"That wasn't just shades, mate, that was full-on replication." Spike shook his head. "It's damn scary at times."

"And I dare say, endearing at others."

The vampire snorted his disbelief and tossed one leg over the sofa's armrest. He tipped his head ever-so-slightly, listening, his expression growing steadily darker and darker.

"What…?" Giles stopped as Spike held up a quieting hand.

After listening for a few more moments, Giles could soon hear the problem for himself as the volume and pitch of the voices rose steadily.

"Ah, it sounds like Dawn has arrived." He glanced at his watch, brows shooting upward. "Oh my, I didn't realize it was getting so late."

"Right." Spike eyed him, scarred brow arching. "How long were you sitting here all meditate-y with your teacup again?"

The door suddenly flew open and Dawn herself stormed through, screaming. "I hate you! I wish you would all just die!" She slammed the door closed, and leant against it, red-faced and panting for breath. She'd worked herself up into quite a state.

"That's tellin' 'em what for, Niblet."

The young Slayer almost jumped out of her skin. "God!"

"No. 'Spike'." He donned a confused expression. "Didn't we already cover this?"

"We covered the fact that you're an annoying pain in my-"

"Hey, you stop that right there. Little pitchers in the vicinity."

Dawn glanced about warily, like she was expecting to get attacked by a swarm of tiny flesh-eating creatures at any second. "Little what-chers?"

"Not 'watchers', 'pitchers'."

Dawn frown at him for a minute, then shook her head. "I never know what you're talking about."

"I never know either," Giles commiserated, and smiled at the irritated scowl that his comment garnered from the vampire. He shot a glance at Seth and Buck, ensuring that they were still otherwise occupied, before continuing. "May I ask what it was that upset you?"

Dawn had begun to calm somewhat, but flushed anew at his prompting. "Oh my God! That stupid stuffed shirt Sherwood!"

"Try saying that five times fast," Spike muttered.

Dawn ignored him. "Can you believe that jerk expects me to do tests? To show how I'm 'adapting to the Hellmouth' and 'developing my slaying skills' or whatever. Pfft. Yeah, I _sooo_ need to be graded on that. Like school isn't bad enough. Oh, and speaking of, I just found out that Willow's gonna be subbing for Mister Kurzmann this week. I mean, how weird is that gonna be? I need more weird stuff going on right now like I need a hole in my… head…" Her rant stopped as Seth suddenly popped up in front of her. "What's your problem?" she demanded of his silent scrutiny.

"You're all red in the face," he said. "Spike always makes people get red in the face."

Spike huffed. "I had nothing to do with it, Nip."

Seth seemed unconvinced. He leveled a long, measuring look directly into Dawn's eyes. "Don't be mad. 'Kay?"

Dawn stilled, caught in deceptively innocent blue depths. Something stirred there, something old and so powerful that it compelled her Slayer side to back down immediately. She found herself agreeing without hesitation. "Okay."

He nodded and wandered back to Buck's side, deliberately stepping on a piece of relatively intact plastic as he did, crushing it under his sneakered heel.

Buck smacked his foot. "Don't!"

"Stop me."

Spike cleared his throat pointedly and Seth abandoned the attempted intimidation quick smart. He sent his father a sheepish little grin. "Sorry."

"I'm not the one needs apologizin' to, am I?"

"Sorry, Butt."

"Yeah," Buck acknowledged quietly.

Dawn was watching the exchange. She turned narrowed eyes back to Giles and Spike. "So, what was that?"

Spike blinked ingenuously, long lashes fluttering. "What was what?"

"That spooky thing he just did with his eyes."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about." The vampire looked everywhere but at the young Slayer.

"Liar!" Dawn's temper flared again. "You're all lying to me, every single one of you. I'm not blind. I can see it on your faces all the time. 'Dawn doesn't belong here'. 'She's not good enough'. Well, screw you!" She spun on her heel and stormed back out the same way she'd come in.

Giles picked up his tea cup. "That went well."

…TBC


	9. Exile

-9-  
EXILE

"I think we should leave town."

Spike blinked up at his wife from his reclined position on their bed. He was laying wrong-way around, bare feet propped up on the pillows and pale head dangling off the end. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay?" Buffy eyed him suspiciously. "You don't even wanna know why?"

"I know why. Question is, do you?"

"Of course I do. There's a great big list and everything. Number one being that the Fall Equinox is in two days and we have no idea how that's gonna affect Seth one way or the other."

"Not exactly front page news, love..."

"Also, Dawn still doesn't know she's not the super-special Prophecy Girl she thinks she is, which you just know is gonna come out at the worst possible moment, which will probably result in yet another one of her psychotic meltdowns…" Buffy turned back to the window she'd been peering out of. "And on top of that, there's a fishy-looking van parked across the street that I'm pretty sure is carrying watcher-shaped cargo."

"Yeah?" Spike bounced up to stand at her side, squinting over her shoulder into the night. "Isn't that neat?" He grinned and waved.

Buffy slapped his hand down out of view. "Cut it out!"

His lips twisted in that slow, sly smirk that preceded any kind of mischief. He nudged her aside and heaved the window open. "Oi!" he shouted. "You in the Watcher-mobile!"

A pair of pasty round faces appeared behind the van's windshield, stupidly confirming their identities. Spike aimed two-fingered salute at them, then promptly slammed the window and yanked the drapes closed.

"Typical of 'em, innit? Poking their tweedy noses in willy-nilly? Don't see how that calls for packing up our old kit bags and headin' for the hills."

Buffy pouted and kicked at his boots where they lay discarded on the floor. "It's not any of those things separately; it's all of those things together, adding up to one huge maxi-mix of badness. It's not going to end well, I can feel it."

Spike stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking his chin into her shoulder. "I'm well aware of how you feel, sunshine. It flows through the link every second, toil and trouble, and usually kind of headache-inducing in a reminds-me-of-the-chip way…" He let out a whuff of air as she jabbed an elbow back into his ribs. "Hey, I'm just sayin'. Besides, you and I both know that runnin's never an answer."

"Doesn't seem to be doing Angel any harm."

He snorted. "You don't believe that."

The Slayer sighed. "No. You're right. He's being a big 'fraidy runaway. Cordy should come out and drag his stubborn ass back to L.A."

"Any particular reason why she hasn't?"

"I called her. She basically told me the same thing he did - that he and Faith were ambushed by a bunch of humans while they were on another case. He survived, she didn't. It was totally out of the blue, too. Cordy didn't even see it coming in her vision."

"Yet old Mopeypants still has to blame himself, eh?"

"Exactly. What's more, he was only supposed to come to Sunnydale to tell us what Wesley found out about Seth, but now he sees Dawn as his chance to make amends. He's hanging around so he can 'save' her."

"Well, bloody good luck. Been my experience that Slayers aren't much for being saved. They tend to want to look out for themselves."

"Damn straight we do. Usually. Dawn seems happy enough to make with the helpless damselling. Her crush is only making things worse."

"Hmmm…" Spike nudged her ear with his nose, his voice dropping to a low, husky growl. "Got to say, pet, all this yapping about Angel's beginning to ruin the mood."

"There was a mood?" Buffy tipped her head to give him better access, beginning to weaken at the knees.

He chuckled and began walking them back toward the bed. "There is now."

-x-

Angel lurked in the shadows and watched Dawn stalk along the perimeter wall of Shady Rest Cemetery. She was muttering to herself, arms folded across her chest, eyes to the pavement. She wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to her surroundings, making herself a prime target for an ambush.

He stepped into her path and two strides later she collided with his chest, the impact hard enough to knock her over.

"Hey!" She flipped smoothly back up onto her feet and shoved him in retaliation. "Way to announce yourself, dead guy. I could have broken something."

Angel gave her a disdainful once over. "Consider yourself lucky it was me and not some random vampire from in there." He gestured randomly toward the adjacent graveyard. "You'd have been a lot more than just broken. This kind of inattention can get you killed, Dawn."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." She rolled her eyes. "Slayer lesson ciento y uno. I'll be sure to write that down." She brushed past and kept walking.

Angel scowled. What the hell was this? She was copping an attitude now? It reminded him a bit of how a much younger version of Buffy used to act when she was pissed at him. "What's wrong?" he called after her retreating form.

Dawn spun on her heel. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you caring about me now? When did that happen?"

"I care." At the hopeful light that flared in her eyes, he amended the statement. "You're my friend."

The hope died a quick death. "Don't do me any favors."

"Look, Dawn, I know I've been handling this thing all wrong, but…"

"You're saying I'm a 'thing' now? A needing-to-be-handled thing? Wow. That makes me feel so much better."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well, what did you mean?" Dawn groaned. "God, I am _sooo_ tired of this whole cryptic routine. I didn't ask for this. I never wanted to be the girl who's so beyond freaky-deaky that even the other freaks don't want to know."

He pointed at her. "See, this here? This kind of unpredictable mood-swinging is the exact reason why you're not…"

"What, accepted? Trusted? A member of the sacred inner circle?"

"Hey, I'm not even in the inner circle and I've known these guys for years." Angel sighed, getting frustrated. "And that's not the point! You're feeling vulnerable right now, I get that. But it's making you go off half-cocked at the slightest little thing that doesn't go your way."

"Duh! I'm a teenager, I'm supposed to be cocky."

"But not stupid. You're the _Slayer_, Dawn. You have been chosen by the Powers that Be for a higher purpose. I realize that you haven't really grasped the enormity of that yet, but your actions can have bigger, more wide-ranging consequences than an average person's. You've got to start thinking things through."

Dawn seemed oblivious to his rapidly rising temper. "Where do you get off telling me that? You're a vampire. You have _no idea_ what being a slayer means."

"I know more than you think. Faith…"

"Fought with you in L.A. Yeah, I know. I read the report. You guys were tight. So what?"

Enough was enough. "Shut up," Angel snapped.

Dawn stared at him, stunned, gaping like he'd as good as slapped her. He'd never taken that tone with her before. No one ever took that tone with her.

"Faith died in my arms, did you know _that_?" he demanded. His voice was suddenly harsh, rough with grief and anger. "Did your report tell you how she was always so vital and energetic and alive, but that she was quiet at the end? A shadow of herself, gasping and in pain? I _felt_ her take her last breath." He stepped closer, eyes burning like brimstone. "_You_ don't get to talk about her like that. You don't get to play little miss high and mighty. The only reason you're even here is because of her."

The young slayer looked genuinely frightened now, a hand covering her mouth in an attempt to physically hold back her sobs, betrayal glimmering in her tearful blue eyes.

"Respect," he hissed through clenched teeth, "Is earned. You have to give some to get some. Right now, you aren't worth the effort."

Dawn turned and ran; fleeing like the devil was at her heels.

-x-

It was an otherwise quiet night, as far as it went. The demon population seemed to have taken the evening off, and their human counterparts were sleeping the sleep of the blissfully unaware.

In the midst of comparative stillness, the first tremor was an insignificant rumble, a tiny shifting of the earth barely strong enough to trip the seismographs at UC Sunnydale.

The second tremor came less than a minute later and lasted a half minute longer.

Treasured ornaments crashed from their perches, car alarms shrieked, windows shattered and widening cracks made jigsaw pieces of the roads and pavements.

A terrible groan could be heard all through the township, rolling like thunder, the sonorous sound of an enormous beast stirring, rousing from deepest sleep.

And the Hellmouth awoke…

-x-

Across town, Lydia Sherwood looked up at the ceiling from where she'd been thrown from her bed like a rodeo rider from a bucking bronco. "Well," she said. "That was unexpected."

She glanced across at the bed's twin and frowned when she noticed that it wasn't occupied. In fact, rather surprisingly, it was still in the exact same pristine condition that housekeeping had left it in the previous morning.

"Oh dear."

-x-

Willow and Tara stared at each other. They'd ended up sitting face-to-face in their bathroom doorway, backs braced against the frame, feet and knees pressed together and hands clasped tight in the middle.

The redhead blinked, looking around. "Wow. We haven't had a big one like that since…" Her voice trailed off and her eyes grew even wider. "Uh-oh."

-x-

Anya pulled Buck tighter into her arms. "It's really nothing to worry about, you know," she explained matter-of-factly. "This world does odd things occasionally. Volcanoes, earthquakes. It belches and groans like it's eaten something unsavory. It's a lot like your father that way."

Xander, snoringly oblivious to the entire experience, rolled over, letting out an unsavory noise of his own.

Mother and son giggled.

-x-

It was Buffy's turn to be laying wrong-way around on the bed, though she hadn't really had much say in how she'd ended up there. Spike had his face pressed into her stomach, holding on to her like she was a life-preserver.

"Man, we're good," she commented breathlessly. "This time the earth actually moved before we even got started."

Spike snickered, lifting his head just enough to look up at her. "Don't believe we had all that much to do with it, pet."

"Says you." Buffy nudged him off and rolled over, stretching over the side to search for something to cover herself up. Spike, at least, still had his jeans on. "I'm taking credit and moving on before we get a little visitor." She tugged his discarded T-shirt over her head.

Spike sighed, rolling over onto his back. He could feel her slipping on the Slayer mantle along with her clothing. Something about this was really bugging her. "Buffy…"

She wouldn't look at him, which only increased his suspicion. "What?"

He didn't have the opportunity to continue the conversation. The door to the adjoining room creaked ajar and Seth peered in through the slight gap. "Dad?"

Spike snagged the hem of Buffy's shirt as she moved away. She glanced down at his hand, then back up into his eyes. He arched a brow at her. "We'll talk later, alright?" When she nodded, he finally answered his son's call. "C'mon in, Nip."

Seth came straight to his side, virtually ignoring his mother, and peered at him with big solemn eyes. "The house got all wobbledy an' I falled outta bed," he announced.

"Is that right?" Spike smiled. "Well, unless I miss my guess, this little episode constitutes your very first quake. Welcome to yet another fun aspect to life on the Hell…mouth..."

As he spoke, the significance of the words and how they pertained to Buffy's sudden withdrawal began to register. He sat up, catching the Slayer's eye. She made an apologetic face.

_Sure sign of an apocalypse, eh? Yeah, we'll definitely be talking about this later_.

-x-

Lydia was busy straightening up the motel room when the knock came. She hurried to answer the door, thinking that perhaps Dawn had lost her key or was in need of assistance.

To her surprise, Rupert Giles was standing on the other side looking decidedly anxious. "Are you alright?"

She gaped at him, stunned mute, then blushed and hurriedly tucked her flyaway hair behind her ears, very conscious of the fact that she was in her nightgown. "Yes, I'm fine. Slightly rattled, but none the worse for wear, I assure you." She glanced past him to the street beyond, noting the still-darkened sky. "Did you… um… did you rush out in order to come to my rescue?"

Giles ducked his head, his cheeks growing suspiciously pink. He shuffled his feet like a schoolboy. "I'm afraid I did rather."

Lydia smiled, his shy turn giving her the opportunity to regain her own confidence. "Well, that was kind of you, but as you can see, your nocturnal excursion was unnecessary. I am however, quite concerned about Dawn. She hasn't returned from her patrol." She turned back inside, leaving the door open in invitation, and made a show of continuing to tidy up.

He followed her in, as she'd hoped he might. "Do you think we should mount a search party?"

Lydia pondered that, an errant pillow held to her chest. "I don't believe it's warranted as yet. She's most likely taken shelter elsewhere. Or perhaps Angel has taken her under his rather substantial wing."

Giles' expression remained serious despite her little joke at the souled vampire's expense. "You know, I - I'm not certain it's best for that relationship to be further encouraged."

Lydia glared at him, affronted by what she perceived to be a slight on her judgment. "I'm perfectly aware of the danger he poses. I _have_ read your diaries, Mr. Giles. At your own insistence, I might add. Do you think me so remiss as a Watcher that I would deliberately choose to ignore…"

His eyes softened, warming considerably, and a small smile quirked the corner of his mouth. She was so delightful when she was ruffled. "On the contrary, Ms. Sherwood, I don't consider you the least bit remiss. You're very thorough in your duties. I find it a most desirable trait. One of many." He stepped into her personal space, his hands coming up to remove the pillow between them and drop it to the floor. "And please," he added softly, "Call me Rupert."

Lydia stared. Why was he looking at her like that? He was so close, so intense and magnetic, pulling her in. She took it upon herself to close the last few inches between them, instigating the sweetest, most passionate kiss of her life. She'd known all along that this man would corrupt her, but she was finding that she didn't mind one bit.

-x-

Spike closed the adjoining door and leant back against it with a sigh.

It was getting harder and harder to get Seth to sleep these days, even more so during nighttime hours when the boy was determined to be out hunting. It was almost enough to drive a vamp to violence.

"Seth out for the count?" Buffy's voice sounded from where she stood at the window, once again looking out onto the street.

"Yeah. You feel like joinin' him, or do you want to pick up where we left off earlier?"

Buffy shot a withering glance back over her shoulder.

Spike snorted. "I _meant_ with the conversation, pet, but if the other takes your fancy…" He wagged his brows at her, but the effort was only half-hearted at best. The mood had packed itself off for the night, and they both knew it.

She ignored him anyway, her attention still focused beyond the bedroom window. "We're currently lacking our decorative Tweed Squad accessory."

"Can't say as I'm surprised, bunch of nervous Nellies like that. Prob'ly jump at their own shadows." The reserved, standoffish sense he was getting from the Slayer was making him feel too detached, he needed to be touching her. Spike plopped down onto the edge of the bed and extended his hand. "C'mere."

Buffy took his hand in her own, threading their fingers together and letting him lead her across to stand between his knees. "Earthquakes are bad," she told him solemnly. "They're all with the imminent doom and omen of my deathness."

"Aren't you bein' a tad melodramatic?" Spike shook his head. "It's Cali-bloody-fornia, you ninny. It's the earthquake capital of the whole sodding world. I mean, I was in Frisco with Dru this one time back during the last century's '05 and…" He trailed off at the irritated look she was giving him. "Right. Still, natural disasters in this state aren't exactly rare."

"Hence their coinciding with Sunnydale's frequent bouts of world endage."

He frowned. "Okay. I concede your point."

"Spike…" Buffy leant in and rested their foreheads together, affectionately nudging her nose against his. "Honey…"

He responded with a deep growl, low in his throat, and stole a quick, hot kiss before pulling back. "As much as I'm enjoyin' the effort here, Slayer, there's no need to work your wiles. I got it."

"You do?"

"Yeah. You still want to skip town." He grinned. "No worries, pet. We'll go tomorrow."

-x-

"Mornin' all."

Spike strolled into the Magic Box with a nonchalant attitude vastly at odds with the rest of the family who bustled in behind. Buffy looked frazzled and Seth was wide-eyed with excitement.

"We's goin' on a holiday, Poppy G." Seth plunked a miniature-sized suitcase down at the Watcher's feet and grinned up at him. A tuft of pink fur could be seen escaping from its clasp. Apparently Mr. Gordo had been packed rather hastily at the last-minute.

Giles turned to the boy's mother for an explanation. "Buffy?"

"He's right. We're clearing out. This prophecy deal is going down right now and I want us someplace that's not here."

"Are you sure?"

"Hmm." Buffy pretended to think it over. "Uh-huh, yeah. Pretty much absolutely. I think the apocalyptic earth-shaking thing kind of clinched it."

Lydia frowned. "I don't understand. Why would you need to leave? The prophecy has nothing to do with you."

Giles grimaced. "That's not entirely true."

She swung around to pin him with incredulous eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"There are certain facts that you're unaware of. I'm afraid the Council seems to have been running a campaign of misinformation."

"In what way?" Lydia was more interested than shocked by the revelation. Given all she'd learned recently, she wouldn't put anything past them.

Giles ducked behind the counter and pulled out a large book.

Lydia gaped. "Is that…?"

"…The final volume of the Chronicles of St. Basilisk the Smug? Yes."

"But how did you… and where?" Lydia rushed to his side in a burst of scholarly wonder. "I've always wanted to find a definitive version."

"It's a family heirloom." Giles flipped open a section that had been bookmarked with the Council's Xeroxed copy of the prophecy. He pointed at the one word that delineated the major difference between the two. "Tell me that's not definitive."

Lydia adjusted her glasses, peering at the Latin intently. "'Aureus'. Meaning 'golden', correct? An interesting aberration, but fail to see how that correlates with Buffy's sudden need to leave."

Giles looked over at Spike. "How are those control lessons coming? Is he able to change at will?"

Ignoring Lydia's bewildered, 'Who?' Spike answered, "Yeah. He's gotten right good at it." The blonde vamp hoisted his son into his arms, turning him so that the watchers could see. "Flash the peepers, Nip."

Seth obediently squeezed his eyes shut, brows furrowed in concentration.

When he opened them again, Lydia couldn't hold back the gasp of surprise. "Oh dear Lord."

It took a few moments for her to regain her poise, but she was soon able to step forward and take in his appearance with what she hoped was an air of clinical detachment. With his blonde curls and bright burnished eyes, Seth truly was the very definition of the Golden Prodigy.

"Well," she said, deadpan. "That explains a lot." She shot an assessing glance at the other Watcher. "Being that both my Slayer and I are ignorant of this, you're alleging that the Council is somehow involved?"

"Of course."

"Definitely."

"Bloody hell, yes."

All three answers came simultaneously, followed by Seth's childish giggle. "Spike sweared!"

Buffy leveled a finger at her husband. "Soap," she warned sternly.

"Maybe later," he said, winking.

The Slayer reddened at whatever image he'd sent her and spun back to the amused Watchers. "So, yeah. Bad Council. Big prophecy. Big trip bye-bye. We're just waiting for our ride to get here."

"Your ride?" Giles frowned at Spike. "You're not taking the DeSoto?"

Spike smirked and tapped the side of his nose. "Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

Giles nodded, getting the none-too-subtle hint that this was evidently only a small part of a much larger diversionary tactic. Lord only knew what the rest of it was. Spike had history of poor planning. Though it had to be said that the plans themselves weren't the problem, and he was in fact more renowned for his lack of patience in carrying them out. This instance may yet prove to be different, however, especially with Seth's welfare at stake.

The boy in question was insistently wiggling his way out of his father's arms.

"'S a vamp," he muttered. "There's a vamp comin'."

Spike pondered the accuracy of his son's tinglies. Wasn't likely for the undead to come calling mid-morning, was it? Still, he hesitated barely a heartbeat before letting him go. There was no holding him back when he got stirred up, and it seemed about time to show the Watchers what the lad was really capable of. Didn't make him worry any less. "Lesson the first?" he quizzed anxiously.

Seth paused in stalking stealthily toward the basement door. He glanced back, his eyes already beginning to light with auriferous tones. "Ssh!"

"Right. Sorry."

Buffy tucked her arm through Spike's, keeping him close at her side. "Stop stressing. He's fine. I gave him Mr. Pointy before we left the house." She shrugged at the raised brow he gave her. "It seemed appropriate. Kind of a 'passing the torch' thing. Like, I know that he can handle himself and I'm proud of what he can do, and I'm not freaked out about it anymore. Much."

Spike nodded. He'd known she'd found some peace of mind, but hadn't pried about the specifics. "Glad to see it, pet."

Lydia observed all this with rising panic. "I'm sorry, it's not my place to question your parenting techniques, but are you really sure this is a good idea? I mean, he's just a child…"

"Seth's not _just_ anything," Buffy informed her. "Prophecy, remember? He's probably better at the slaying than Dawn is."

At the mention of the younger Slayer, Lydia went abruptly, ominously silent. Buffy didn't get a chance to ask about the why before the action exploded on the other side of the room.

Seth had used his low angle of attack to his advantage, kneecapping the unsuspecting vampire as he came through the door and then following through with the deadly twisted stake while he was in the process of falling.

Surprisingly, he pulled back at the last second, his little shoulders slumping in disappointment. "'S just you."

"Um, yeah. Hi." Angel gave a tentative wave of his fingers.

Seth blinked big guileless eyes at the mortified vampire. "Sorry I nearly staked ya again."

At Angel's accepting nod, the little boy turned and shuffled back to his mother's side.

Buffy ruffled his hair. "Next time, big guy."

"Yeah."

Angel struggled to his feet and followed, one hand held over his unbeating heart, still feeling some residual effects from the nausea that usually came with such a close call. And that had been too close for comfort. He looked over at Buffy and Spike. "Hey, you know, on the plus side his shyness seems to have disappeared."

Spike gave in to the giggles that had been threatening. "Now that," he panted, waving a hand in general illustration, "was bloody brilliant!"

Angel eyed him sourly. "Thanks."

"I think he was referring to Seth's performance rather than your own," Giles said. "And might I ask why exactly it is that you're here?" He looked pointedly at the sunlight outside. "At this time of day?"

"Buffy said there was a plan." Angel tipped his chin at Spike. "I was hoping it wasn't one of yours."

"Well then, Peaches, if hopes were horses, you'd be beatin' a dead one."

"What?" Angel turned to Buffy. "Did you understand any of that? 'Cause I sure as hell didn't."

She scowled. "Okay, the sarcastic thing? Not helping."

"Sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood." He frowned at the incredulous looks he received from all quarters. "What? I can't be cheerful?"

"Not from recent memory." Giles' voice was icy with disapproval.

Angel seemed to collapse inward for the briefest of moments before rebuilding his usual stony-faced facade. "I can see why you'd believe that," he said. "It's probably even justified. But it isn't right. Or true. There are other sides."

"Are you trying to defend your actions?"

"No, I'm not. But you're also not in any position to play judge."

Lydia had stiffened at the escalating tension between the two men. She'd read of their painful history in Rupert's diaries, but she wondered if something more recent had given an added edge to the conversation. And really, she was already upset enough about Dawn; she didn't her newly-acquired beau adding to it.

Spike merely shook his head at their posturing. He was relieved Angel was thinking a bit more clearly on the subject, but any dissention in the ranks wasn't needed at this stage of the game.

"Look," he said, hands held up in a placating manner, "I'm not sayin' there isn't bad blood under the bridge, but now's not the time to be buttin' heads, alright? We need all hands on deck."

Giles nodded tightly. "Yes, of course."

"Which begs the question, where is the Junior Miss section of our Slayer collection this morning?" Buffy asked.

Lydia sighed heavily. "I'm afraid Dawn didn't come back to the hotel last night."

"Oh." Angel blinked. "That's… not good."

Spike narrowed his eyes, catching an odd nuance in the big ape's tone. "What did you do?"

The older vamp shifted uncomfortably. "I might have… _said_ something."

"Of course you did." Buffy threw up her hands in dismay. "This is perfect. We really needed this on top of everything else."

"It wasn't like she didn't deserve it. She was being disrespectful to Faith."

"Faith wasn't a saint, Angel. I know you feel guilty about her death, but you weren't responsible for it."

"No, that actually falls to me."

They all turned to see who had spoken. Peter Sherwood stood at the Magic Box door, flanked on either side by two very capable-looking men in black, both armed with crossbows.

…TBC

**A/N:** _Just a short note to say Thank You to everyone who has supported this story. Most have you have probably lost interest by now, and I'm terrily sorry that it's taken me so long to write. I can only hope that you won't hold it against me. The end is in sight now, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that my muse stays true this time, and other Real Life events don't interfere. Cheers, Dee._


	10. Conflict

-10-

CONFLICT

"It was you?" Angel's tone was tight as he clamped a stranglehold on his instinctive urge to tear the man's head from his shoulders. "You killed Faith?"

"Well, not personally. I prefer not to get my hands dirty. I did, however, issue the orders to my Special Operations team." Peter indicated the man on his left. "I believe Mr. Hinckley here was the man who struck the fatal blow."

Angel snarled at Hinckley, who merely waved his crossbow at the vampire in a jaunty greeting, his doughy pockmarked face twisted in a mocking smile.

"For the love of God, Peter, why?" Lydia was more appalled at her lack of instincts concerning the man she had married than the proof of his actions. She had completely underestimated the extent of his arrogance.

"It's all about power," Spike surmised. "Am I right? No point having a Watcher's Council when there's no-one wants watching."

"There wasn't anyone to control," Buffy agreed. "Not until someone new got called, someone who didn't know how manipulative and scheming and _evil_ you guys can be."

As they spoke, Spike and Buffy had covertly swapped positions, so that they were guarding each other's weak sides, Seth standing between them.

"Evil? Really?" Sherwood sneered at the blonde vampire by the Slayer's side. "Difficult for you to throw stones given your choice of spouse."

"My Daddy's not evil!" Seth's little voice piped up defiantly. "You take that back!"

Sherwood barely glanced at him, before turning those flat grey eyes back to the Slayer, a faintly disgusted sneer curling beneath his moustache. "Please, control your… _child_."

Spike bristled at the inference that his son was less than human. "Right, that does it."

He shot forward across the room in a super-fast black-clad blur. He snatched Council Thug Number Two's crossbow away, used the butt to smash him in the face, then spun it in one hand like a gunslinger, whipped back around and pointed the arrow-tip right between Sherwood's eyes.

Hinckley stepped in and thrust his own weapon against the side of Spike's head. "Drop it, vampire."

Spike snorted. "Don't think so, mate."

"Call off your goon, Sherwood," Buffy's voice was steely, and though she made no physical move to come to Spike's defense, the threat remained. "You hurt my family in any way and you won't be making it back to England alive."

"Forget England," Angel growled. "He won't make it out of the store." He dragged the now broken-nosed Council operative upright and held him by the throat. "None of them will."

Peter let out an insane-sounding little giggle. "Oh, this is precious! Do you all honestly believe that I would come in here with only these two as protection? I have this entire building surrounded by my most highly trained men. Multiple teams. Go ahead and kill Mr. Fromme there, by all means. There are plenty more to take his place."

Fromme blinked wide, panicked eyes. "Huh?"

Hinckley merely chuckled, pressing his weapon harder into the skin at Spike's temple, drawing blood. "Reckon 'is special powers'll save 'im from a bolt through the brain, Doc?"

"It would be an interesting experiment, wouldn't it?" Peter mused. "Vampire physiology can be quite intriguing, you know." He directed his full attention at Seth for the first time. "Quite intriguing."

The lad scrunched his nose up at the scrutiny. "I don' like you," he said impudently.

"Yes, so you've said. Didn't your parents tell you it's not polite to speak your mind?"

"No."

Buffy smiled and ran a loving hand through her son's curls, but her eyes remained riveted on her husband. "Spike?"

The almost imperceptible tilting of his head was the only indication that he'd even heard her. Then without warning, he suddenly feinted left, kicking Hinckley's weapon out of his hands with his right foot and knocking him backward. Hinckley inadvertently released the trigger on impact, the bolt shooting past Spike and into the hapless Operative Fromme, who was still being held by Angel.

Angel blinked at the bolt protruding from his twitching captive. "That could have hit me, you know."

"Better luck next time, eh?" Spike sneered. He now had possession of both crossbows and tossed one to Buffy, keeping the other steady on Sherwood. "Tables have turned now, Lofty. You're to tell your other teams to stand down, or else you're gonna be able to sympathize kind of personally with Sir Shot-a-lot over there." He tipped his chin at Fromme.

Hinckley had ended up sitting pretty much ignored at Sherwood's feet; he made a move as if to stand when his ear-piece crackled to life, drawing all eyes. He lifted his eyes apologetically to Sherwood.

"Incoming," he said. "Front door. ETA, two minutes."

-x-

Xander stood in the middle of the sidewalk, hands on his hips, growing increasingly frustrated. "Anya, come _on_!" He glanced at his wristwatch. "We were supposed to be there for the car-swappy thing fifteen minutes ago."

"I'm moving as fast as I can!" she retorted, eyes snapping. She was ten feet back along the street and treading very carefully. "You try power-walking with another human inside you attempting to squash your bladder flat."

Xander squeezed his eyes shut. "And thank you so much for _that_ imagery."

"Hey, you helped put it in here; you should be more sympathetic to my discomfort."

He walked back and took hold of her arm. "Okay, this is me making with the sympathy and support." He gave her a wide smile. "You look beautiful today, by the way."

Anya growled. "Don't even start."

Buck had been distracting himself from their bickering by looking into store windows. He noticed something in the reflection on the glass, and turned to his parents. "Hey, whys'at man gotta gun?"

-x-

Spike reached down with his free hand and grabbed Hinckley by the collar, hauling him to his feet. "What was that?"

The Council operative just glared sullenly, until his earpiece crackled again. The vampire quite clearly heard the message through the distorting static, "Got 'em. Two human adults – one male, one female. Also, one human child, male. Guiteau and Booth are bringin' 'em in."

_The whelp and his little family?_ Spike glanced over his shoulder at Buffy.

She nodded, having heard the message as well via the link. "It has to be," she said out loud.

"Has to be what?" Angel frowned at them. Being just that small distance further away from the others, he'd failed to pick up what was being said.

"That." Spike looked toward the front door, just as another operative opened it and ushered Anya through, a lethal-looking handgun held at her head.

Xander came in behind them, his own guard at his back and Buck cradled protectively in his arms. "Hey," he greeted, and then tipped his chin, indicating their captors. "You guys send out for an extra large order of Yorkshire Puddings or what?"

"Ew yuck!" Buffy grimaced. "As if."

"Americans," Hinckley puffed.

"Doesn't know what she's missin'," Spike agreed, then frowned when he realized who he was actually agreeing with. "Oi, keep that bloody pie-hole shut you."

Hinckley snickered.

Under any other circumstances, Spike might have liked the bloke. Instead, he punched him in the face and watched as the unconscious man crumpled to the floor. "Right, who's next?"

Sherwood sneered. "Mister Grey, it may have escaped your notice, but we have gained reinforcements. You are no longer in control of this situation."

Unfortunately he was right. They were at a standoff.

The pause lasted all of thirty seconds before Seth suddenly pulled away from Buffy and made a lightning-fast dash for the basement, dodging around Angel on the way.

"Nip!" Spike took a step in his direction, only to pull up short when Operative Booth cocked his gun and pointed it at the boy's back.

"Wouldn't do that if I was you."

The basement door flew open and a bedraggled-looking Dawn reached out and grabbed Seth's arm, hauling him against her side. The little boy didn't make the slightest sound of protest.

Buffy finally moved, breaking her stunned stillness to rush to her husband's side, calling after her son. "Seth? Baby, come back here…"

"Dawn!" Lydia cried out. "What are you doing? Are you working with _them_?"

The young Slayer didn't answer the question directly. She stared at them defiantly, her pretty face smudged with grime from the sewers and her hair tied in a straggly knot. "I heard you all talking before," she said. "I know the prophecy's not about me. I think I always knew somehow. This is the only chance I have to prove myself." She locked eyes with Buffy. "I _have_ to do this. I'm sorry."

She pulled Seth back into the basement with her and the door slammed shut behind them.

"_No!_" The agonized sound Buffy made was barely recognizable as a word. She dropped her weapon and crumpled like a rag doll.

Spike caught her before she hit the ground. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her upright against his chest and sending as much comfort as he could through the link.

"'S alright," he said, more to himself than anything, trying to come to terms with his son's actions. "He's okay. He went off his own back. He _wanted_ to go."

Buffy was already feeling stronger, fortified by her vampire's unfailing belief that everything was going to work out. She sighed heavily, indulging in a last moment of solace before straightening up again. "I know that. I do."

"I noticed that too," Sherwood commented dryly. "Interesting development, isn't it?"

Vampire and Slayer turned to him as one entity, twin fists slamming into the Watcher's head, one from the left and one from the right. He dropped like a rock.

And then the store erupted into chaos.

Angel threw Fromme at Booth, who lost his gun when he threw his arms up to defend himself. They both dived after it, scrambling across the floor in a tangle. Angel came up triumphant and used the recovered weapon to cold-cock Booth. There was an audible crack and the man slumped over his now equally-unconscious counterpart.

Xander put Buck down and then used his standing-back-up momentum to slam his elbow in to Guiteau's midsection. The Council Operative staggered back, casting Anya aside in the process. She landed heavily, crying out on impact.

"Ouch! Damn it, Xander!"

Buck scowled, launched himself across his mother's lap and sank his teeth into Guiteau's leg. The operative screamed and Xander was forced to punch him in the throat to shut him up, but not before the man's cries had alerted a tertiary back-up team of four men who then burst in from the training room.

Giles pulled an auto-loading crossbow from under the counter and shot at the first of them, the bolt piecing the man's stomach. His second-in-command returned fire with his handgun and Giles fell back, winged. Lydia hurriedly tore a scrap of cloth from the hem of her blouse and packed it against the streaming gash on his right bicep, then took up the crossbow herself, the weapon's second bolt hitting the gunman dead square in the centre of his chest.

Spike tossed his own crossbow aside, the cry of pain as it unintentionally impacted with Xander's head failing to register as he raced to take on the remaining two men of the team. Buffy went with him; the Slayer taking out much of her current pain and frustration by knocking her target down and punching him repeatedly. Her vampire went for a quicker and cleaner approach, dispatching his victim with a roar and swift boot in the head.

He observed his wife's efforts for a second, before walking over to her side. She just went on pummeling the downed man. "I think he's out, love."

She paused and glanced up at him, fist cocked and at the ready. "Is Sherwood still down?"

Spike arched a brow. "You gonna do him next?"

"You gonna stop me?"

"If you want to pound on the man, then go ahead by all means. Might be fun to watch. Jus' figured we had more urgent priorities is all."

"Guys…?"

They turned to see Xander holding a shaking hand to his bleeding head wound.

"Ouch," Buffy winced in sympathy. "Are you okay? That looks nasty."

"Forget about me." Xander crouched down beside a very pale-looking Anya. She was holding on to her swollen belly and doing some very ominous breathing exercises. He stroked her hair and then looked back up, giving them a pained, almost apologetic smile. "We've kind of got a bigger problem."

-x-

Dawn and Seth walked hand in hand through the sewer tunnels. The young Slayer was peering anxiously around at the dark walls like she expected to get jumped at any second.

"You _do_ know where we're going, right?" she asked, not for the first time.

"Uh-huh." Seth plodded steadily onward, never once looking at her or turning to look back.

His eyes were glowing golden.

-x-

Willow and Tara burst in seconds after the metaphoric dust had settled. No-one thought to wonder why they hadn't been stopped on their way in.

"We're here!" Willow stopped dead, almost tripping over a body, and looked around aghast at the carnage. "Oh my Goddess, what's going on?"

The redhead was largely ignored as General Buffy took charge of the situation.

"Okay," she said, hands on hips. "First things first. Angel - restrain anyone who's still breathing." The vampire nodded and moved off to comply, dragging one of the unconscious operatives behind him by the ankles. "Everyone else - patch yourselves up as best you can and get Anya to the hospital. I'm going after Dawn."

Spike scowled at her. "You mean '_we_'."

She scowled back. "What?"

"We. As in 'us'. _We're_ going after Dawn."

"Of course we are." Buffy shook her head at him, confused by his denseness. "Isn't that what I said?"

"No, it bloody wasn't."

"Wait," Willow interrupted. "Back up. What is going on? Who are these guys, and why in the world would you be going after Dawn?"

The blond vampire snorted. "Because she's a two-faced, backstabbing little bint. She's been working with these Council wankers, and she kidnapped the Nipper." He decided for dramatic purposes to leave out the fact that Seth had actually gone with the young Slayer of his own accord.

The two witches responded with predictable shock.

"Oh, no!"

"She couldn't have!"

Spike narrowed his eyes at them. "Why're you so traumatized all of a sudden? 'S not like you were the best of mates."

"But she came to see us," Willow explained.

"Last night," Tara continued. "A-after the earthquake. She seemed really shaken up."

"But not, you know, literally."

Spike huffed. "Stop with the Abbott and Costello routine and just spit it out, would you? Got places to be and a gormless Slayer to ki--" He hesitated on the word, glanced at Buffy and then substituted, "Keep out of trouble."

Buffy folded her arms. "Oh, don't worry. If Seth gets hurt, she's dead."

Lydia finally turned her attention away from tending to Giles' injuries. "I beg your pardon?"

"I warned the Council to stay away from my family," Buffy said. "They didn't listen. And if Dawn's working with them? Well, then she's dug her own grave, hasn't she?"

"Isn't that rather a harsh stance to take? You don't know the true story behind her actions. Perhaps…"

"Perhaps if she wasn't so self-centered, this wouldn't have happened in the first place," Buffy snapped.

Lydia gasped. "Well, perhaps if we had been trusted enough to be let in on your little secret…"

"As far as I'm concerned, you're _still_ not trusted."

Xander let out a shrill whistle to draw their attention and they all turned to glare at him for the interruption. "Hey ladies, if you're just gonna stand around and chat all day, I could go ahead and deliver the baby right here," he offered with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "I mean, at this point I'm an old hand at it."

"Don't you touch me!" Anya objected. "You've done quite enough." She somehow managed to pout between taking big puffs of air. "I want my private room at the hospital. I want Doctor Mackie, and I really, really want all the good drugs."

"You'll get them," Buffy promised. She spared a glance for her partner. "Spike?"

"Right." The blond vampire gave her a curt nod and headed for the training room, returning moments later with a collection of weaponry. He handed her a sword and a curved ceremonial dagger, keeping a short-handled axe for himself.

Peter Sherwood stirred. He was propped against a bookshelf with his hands tied behind his back, but Angel had foregone gagging him as he had the others. "Wha…sit?" he mumbled. He screwed up his rat-like face in confusion, and then groaned in pain as the movement irritated his newly broken nose. "Aah…"

Lydia snickered.

Sherwood glowered in her direction. "You may find my predicament amusing for now, Lydia, but it won't last. You're on shaky ground…"

Giles stalked over to him, shored up by adrenaline and the strength of his anger. "Wrong," he snarled, and was gratified as other man immediately cowered away from him. "_We_ have the relatively solid high-ground, whereas _you_ may find the sands have shifted beneath your feet. Perhaps you should act accordingly before you become buried under the weight of your own incompetence."

Lydia gazed at him adoringly. He looked ever so ruggedly handsome when beaten and bloodied like that, and she did love a man who took control.

"There are more…" Peter began, and then clammed up.

Spike pounced on the tidbit like a cat on a helpless mouse. "More what? Men? Another team?"

Peter turned his head away mutinously, but apparently thought better of his situation and nodded, conceding defeat. "Yes. There is one other group of operatives. They were supposed to come in through the sewers. I fear they may have become lost."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Spike muttered. "Useless wankers."

"We'll deal with them if they turn up." Buffy locked eyes with Giles. "You'll be okay?"

"Yes. Of course. Don't be concerned about us. We'll manage. Just do your best to…" The watcher sighed, concern for his honorary grandson writ large in his eyes. "Just bring him back safe."

"No worries, Pops." Spike tucked a hand under Buffy's elbow as he escorted her towards the basement, that small gesture revealing to them all how much of his support she still needed despite her brave façade. They disappeared through the door together and slammed it behind them.

-x-

Once in the basement, they used the old trapdoor into the sewers. Spike had once known the tunnels like the back of his hand, but their necessity had diminished since his new, improved sunlight affinity and it took him a moment to get his bearings.

Buffy waited impatiently. "Well? Which way, super-sense guy?"

"Hang on a mo'." Spike tipped his head, pivoting from one direction to the other, trying for a scent. He resisted the urge to vamp – he didn't need a headache on top of everything else.

"Do you want me to try?"

"No…" He sniffed and took a few steps down the right tunnel. "No. I got 'em." He gestured for Buffy to lead the way. "Seth's fine, but the Nibblet's had another mishap at some point. She's been bleedin' again."

"Better than breadcrumbs," she murmured.

Neither made mention of the ominous fact that that particular tunnel led to the Hellmouth.

-x-

The ambulance had come and gone, taking Xander and Anya with it and leaving the rest of the Scoobies on clean-up duty. They'd corralled the remaining Council operatives in the training room for the time being, away from prying paramedic eyes. In the wake of the battle, they'd congregated around the study table to discuss what had happened, and to determine their next course of action.

"Dawn was all wild-eyed and trembling," Willow explained. She was sitting at the table with Buck curled up on her lap, maintaining her position as World's Best Auntie while his parents were otherwise occupied bringing his new sibling into the world. "And I thought she was gonna freak out on us. Which, you know, uncontrollable Slayer? So not of the good. I…" She glanced at Tara. "_We_ decided to perform this M'hayan tranquility spell. It's non-evasive and totally within Wiccan regulations. It was supposed to give her peace of mind."

"She calmed right down," Tara went on. "Then she got quiet. L-like creepy quiet."

"I think the 'enlightened wisdom' part of it might have overloaded and she figured out what was going on with Seth." The red-head seemed to shrink a little, to make herself less of a target. "I screwed up."

Angel stood apart from the others, frowning. "So, how did I not sense that she was in the basement? I came in that way." That fact had been bothering him since the young Slayer had first appeared.

"Um…" Willow's eyes looked a little shifty, and she winced in anticipation of the reaction her next words would generate. "Sorry. That was also me."

Tara sighed in heartfelt disappointment. "Oh, Willow. What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Willow defended. "Nothing bad. Not really. It was just a teeny tiny camouflage spell, so that Angel wouldn't be able to find her."

Angel's frown grew even darker and he ground his teeth together. "What?"

"She was upset! You really scared her!"

"She's a damn Slayer, Willow," the vampire growled. "Not some helpless girl."

"Well neither was Buffy and look at what you did to _her_!"

Silence.

Willow gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified that she'd let that out.

"You guys won't ever let that go, will you?" Angel asked quietly. His dark gaze took in each of them one at a time, lingering lastly on Giles, singling him out. "You'll forgive Spike his past, forget the two Slayers he killed, but somehow my crimes are worse than his could ever be. To you, I'll always be the evil one."

The Watcher shook his head weakly. "Angel, it isn't nearly as simple as that…"

The vampire snorted in disbelief. "Isn't it?"

"I…We didn't mean to…" Willow strained to placate him, but it had no perceivable effect.

"Forget it. I don't care anymore. I'm going after Buffy and Spike."

Angel turned on his heel and walked away.

-x-

Back in the depths of Sunnydale's sewer system, Buffy paused as she rounded a corner, moving from one tunnel into another. "Do you hear that?"

"No." Spike stilled, stagnant water swirling around his boots, and cocked his head, listening. "Wait…yes." He backtracked a few steps, then pointed to an adjacent tunnel, several feet away from the one that they were using. "Down there, movin' towards us."

"The Council Team?"

"Reckon so. They're not locals, anyway. Judgin' by the accents, there's a Yorkie amongst 'em." Spike snorted. "Damn Northerners."

"What's a Yorkie?" Buffy blinked and then held up a hand. "Don't answer that."

Spike snickered, swinging his axe around in a bored manner.

She wrinkled her nose. "Okay, decision time. Do we go ahead to the Hellmouth, or back after the Lost Watcher Tribe? Because the stink in here is way worse when you're standing still."

"Well, that's a no-brainer, innit?"

"Hellmouth?"

"Hellmouth."

TBC…


	11. Closure

-11-

CLOSURE

Angel ran.

He could sense that Buffy and Spike weren't that far ahead of him but, no matter how fast he moved, he couldn't seem to catch up to them. He'd worked out where they were headed though, and it was times like this that he was glad of his near-photographic memory, being able to draw upon long disused internal maps to guide his way.

Reaching the end of one tunnel, he rounded the corner and ran straight into four armed Council operatives. It was a toss up as to who was more surprised.

In no mood to deal with another group of incompetents, he snarled at them in full game face, fangs gleaming in the glow of their snazzy hi-tech cap-lamps.

Never having had that much field experience with a real live vampire, they panicked; screaming and scattering like a group of terrified teenage girls. The reaction merely delayed their fates.

In a matter of seconds, Angel was once again running through the tunnels leaving their beaten bodies behind him.

He didn't look back.

-x-

The closer Buffy and Spike got to the Hellmouth, the wider the tunnels became, but they weren't the only thing that was growing.

"Can you feel that?" the Slayer asked, waving a hand through the dissipating remains of the vampire she had just dusted. "Or is it just me?"

"Damned spider sense is makin' my neck itch." Spike scratched at his nape, and then twitched his shoulders, trying to shake it off. "Loads more vamps hangin' 'round up there."

"And a few not-vamp types, too. It's that demonpalooza time of year again. How festive." Buffy peered into the darkness as though she could see through it to the chamber where the Hellmouth opening was currently situated. She sighed. "I hope he's okay."

"'Course he is. We'd know if he wasn't." Spike tipped his head, a tiny hint of uncertainty creeping in. "Wouldn't we?"

Buffy pondered the question. "I think…yes. Definitely."

"Yeah." Spike nodded and straightened. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the continuing fight ahead, and took a few strides forward. "Once more unto the breach, hey Sunshine?"

A dull roar echoed along the tunnel, booming like thunder, and then the world moved around them, bouncing them off the walls like marbles in a bottle.

After it steadied, Buffy turned wide eyes to her husband. "Aftershocks?"

"Or a whole new quake."

The sound of pounding feet distracted them from this latest crisis and they turned to see Angel come flying out of the darkness. He ran past them and straight at three frightened-looking vamps who had chosen that unfortunate moment to emerge from the opposite direction. He dusted two on impact, and tossed the third back past his dumbfounded audience to smack into a rear wall.

"Or Peaches running." Spike pivoted to watch as his Sire passed by again to haul the vamp upright. "What're you doin'?"

A succession of quick punches, then a grab-twist-and-jerk and Angel had beheaded his rather unresisting opponent. He glared back. "What does it look like I'm doing, Spike? I'm helping you."

"Don't recall asking for any help. As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember tellin' you to keep out of it."

Angel rolled his eyes. "That was before this morning's 'all hands on deck' deck speech. Or has that already slipped that tiny mind of yours?"

"Hey!" Buffy protested. "Watch it with the name-calling. His mind is so _not_ tiny."

"Maybe not the part he shares with you." Angel gave a small shrug, barely discernable in the dim light. "But the rest…"

Spike pursed his lips in annoyance. "Still haven't said why it is you're here."

Angel sighed. "I couldn't stay there any more. Willow…She did a spell to protect Dawn from me. She actually thought I'd hurt her. They all did."

"You know," the younger vamp mused, "In all fairness to the Scoobies, you haven't really given them a reason to think that you wouldn't."

"What?"

Spike went on like he hadn't heard the interruption. "You've spent most of your time lurking about like a great brooding git, all woe-is-me an' guilt-ridden - tends to breed suspicion. Maybe if you lightened up a bit, they'd treat you a good deal different."

Angel blinked, then repeated, "What?"

Buffy sighed. "Give it up, honey. If he hasn't got it by now, he's never going to."

Spike waited for a moment, eyes still locked with his Sire's, hoping against hope that he was finally getting through.

Nothing.

He rolled his eyes. "Gettin' tired of repeating myself ad nauseam, but here's a last bloody ditch…Seems a bit of a waste to me, but it's your unlife, Angel. Destiny or no, _you're_ the one who's ultimately in charge. I know you've got some ridiculous fantasy floatin' around in that big head of how your life's supposed to be, but you can't keep buildin' castles in the sky when there's more fun to be had in the real world. A bird like Cordelia's not going to wait around forever. Do something about it, eh?"

With that, the younger vampire shouldered his axe and headed down the tunnel. Buffy followed him without another word. Their only mission was to find their son, nothing else mattered. Angel envied them that.

He stared contemplatively at their retreating backs. He'd come to Sunnydale in order to protect what he'd managed to gain in his life, not to throw it away; to be a good friend, a good ally, and maybe try to be a better Sire. Dawn's arrival had distracted him from that mission.

Spike was right, he couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't change his past; he could only learn from it and move forward. And he couldn't keep trying to save people that didn't want or need it. Not only wasn't it his place to try, it wasn't worth the price he'd have to pay.

Angel sighed, picturing Cordelia's beloved face in his mind's eye. She'd told him the last time she'd called that he had better get his 'dumb-as-a-post, emotionally retarded ass' back to LA before the end of the week, or she was going on vacation without him. He'd snapped at her for being self-centered.

He looked around at the sewer walls. It was a strangely appropriate place to be having an epiphany. He was standing in ankle-deep sludge, his shoulders aching from the fight; he felt old and worn, bone weary.

Now that he thought about it, he could _really_ use a vacation…

-x-

There were too many.

Dawn wiped a weary hand over her sweaty, dust-covered face. She'd lost count of how many vamps and demons she'd slain, let alone how many Seth had slain – seriously, how weird was _that_? – And they just kept coming. She was exhausted.

Seth on the other hand, had barely even slowed down. The kid was relentless. At first, he was like some kind of homing beacon thingy - all 'get to the Hellmouth and don't spare the horses', except much less Watcher-speak-ish and a whole lot more five-year-old-ish.

Along their journey, he'd slowly changed. There was very little of him that resembled a five-year-old by this point.

From the moment she'd laid eyes on him back at the magic shop - actually more like since Willow had performed that first calming spell - she'd known that _he_ was the one in control of this situation, that something much more powerful was at work, and that she had to do what he wanted. It was like that freaky moment they had in the training room that one time, only magnified by a thousand. She didn't know how he was doing it, just that he was and that the outcome was very, very important.

That simple spell had revealed so much. All her scattered thoughts had come into focus with diamond-sharp clarity. She could see things in a way she never had before, from a new and far more mature perspective. Like the final piece of the melodramatic puzzle that was Dawn had finally slotted into place and now she could see outside herself to the bigger picture. The schoolgirl dreams about who and what Angel was had been dashed in the face of his so-very-human failings. Her calling was no longer the burden she'd thought it to be - it was a gift, one that she had been squandering, defiling in a way, with her own narrow, selfish desires. She was part of a huge legacy, something much larger than she could ever hope to grasp. She knew that now. She only hoped she could live up to the high standard her sister slayers had set.

"We's here," Seth announced, turning those glowing gold eyes on her. Which, Dawn had to admit, looked really creepy down there in the dark. She sighed, partly in relief.

The moment he crossed the threshold into the cavern that housed the Hellmouth it was like a chain reaction had been set off - the earth roared and the heavens trembled, and it all began to crash down around them.

Dawn flattened her back against the cavern wall, trying to avoid the falling dirt and rocks. The whole place was moving, like the Hellmouth was trying to shake them off its back, a giant dog with pesky slaying fleas.

Seth continued to walk, unhindered, straight into the centre of the chaos.

-x-

Angel stormed into the chamber just in time to almost get beaned by a cascading rockslide. He was rescued by Buffy, who yanked him down beneath the same outcropping of rock she was sheltering under.

"Where's…?"

"Seth's right out there in the middle," she hastened to explain. "We think he's probably causing the quakes."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Spike told me to wait here while he went to get him 'cause he didn't want to risk both of us, but there's vamps and demons everywhere and Dawn was fighting alone, and he got distracted trying to help her, and then…"

"Whoa! Hey, Buffy, take a breath. It'll be fine. Spike will take care of it."

The Slayer peered at him with big, anxious green eyes, her lower lip trembling. "My baby boy's in trouble, Angel, and I can't do anything to help him." She suddenly lunged forward and viciously drove a stake through the chest of a vamp who'd tried to hide with them. "I hate being useless."

Angel shook his head, wondering at her definition of the word, waved the dust away and stared up at the enormous crack that had appeared in the cavern's ceiling. Pinpoint rays of sunlight were beginning to filter through. No wonder that vamp had risked a staking; it was getting pretty bright out there. "What's above this place now?"

Buffy spared a quick glance upward herself. "A park. The Richard Wilkins' Memorial Gardens."

Angel frowned. "They built him a memorial? Even after the Ascension?"

"Well, he _was_ the Mayor for like, a bajillion years. We're actually really lucky that they didn't rebuild the High School. Giles did some friends-in-high-places, string-pulling thing down at city hall and got it moved to a new site."

"This town…" Angel shook his head is disbelief. "You know, you should really consider moving after this."

Buffy shrugged. After a beat she asked, "What time is it?"

"Around twelve o'clock. Why?"

"It's noon. The sun's directly overhead. That can't be a fun coincidence."

"Oh." More cracks appeared, the fissure widening to let in even more sunlight, and Angel began to back up, looking around for more cover. "You're right. That's not good."

All around the cavern, other vampires were doing the same thing. Those who were a little slower on the uptake began to smolder, one or two bursting into flame before they even realized what was going on.

At the very edge of the Hellmouth, Seth spread his arms wide as though offering himself; the prophesized Aureus Prodigy ready to fulfill his obligation. A single shaft of light pinned him in place, seemed to be absorbed through his skin until the deep gold of his eyes took on a life of its own, brightening to a blinding intensity and shooting outward like laser beams, obliterating all the vamps and various other demons in their path.

The earth buckled and groaned beneath the boy's feet, the Hellmouth protesting against this onslaught, but he didn't even flinch, not until Spike appeared on the opposite side of the gaping maw.

"Nip!" he roared. "You okay?" He was in full battle mode, or as near as he got to it these days - ridge-free, but with his own eyes flaring a demonic yellow.

Seth shook his head, but wouldn't – or couldn't – move. "It stings, Daddy."

"Yeah, reckon it would at that. Hold on, I'll be right there." Spike circled the rim, trying to reach his son's side, battling past the myriad hysterical demons in his path. He was shouting one name at the top of his lungs as he went, striving to be heard over the din, "_Buffy_!"

"Over here!"

Seth looked over in their direction, drawn by the sound of his mother's voice, and Angel ducked as a deadly sun-bolt blasted by close enough to singe his hair.

"Oh, crap." Buffy yanked his leather coat down his arms, and then flung it over his head, pushing him further under the ledge. "You're not sun-proofed, so stay here and stay down." She scrambled to her feet and headed out into the front line to join her husband. "Coming!"

She reached Seth's right side, just as Spike arrived on the left. They fell to their knees and the boy grabbed blindly for their hands. They instinctively took them, and then joined their own free hands together, completing some kind of cosmic circuit in the process. Seth threw his head back and screamed.

It was like a bomb had gone off.

The light and noise intensified a hundred-fold in a flash so intense Angel swore he could see the bones through the skin of the hand he'd hastily thrown over his eyes.

When he risked looking again, the cavern had become an open pit, the entire ceiling blown away. The little family stood in the centre, still joined and now coated in a thick layer of dust, but the space around them was bare, stripped of every living thing bar the shining sunlight, the demons having been obliterated in the explosion. He could see Dawn on the opposite side, sword still raised in abortive attack. She appeared just as bewildered as he felt.

"What the in the _hell_ was _that_?" she asked, lowering the weapon and using her free hand to shield her eyes against the harsh light of day.

Spike coughed and peered into the smoking hole at his feet. "Might want to rephrase that, Niblet. Looks to me like hell's taken a powder."

"Huh?"

Buffy lifted a dazed and confused Seth into her arms, sparing only a quick glance into the opening herself. "He's right. The Hellmouth's gone."

"Gone? Completely?"

The elder slayer nodded. "And utterly. Closed up tight." She hugged Seth tighter. "Way to go, baby."

"Yeah," he murmured, blue eyes hooded and tired. "'M sleepy,"

Spike caressed his son's blond curls with a loving hand. "Reckon you've earned yourself a bit of a kip, mate."

Buffy smiled. "I think we all have."

TBC…


	12. Denouement

-12-

DENOUEMENT

Lydia replaced the phone handset and turned to face Giles.

When she didn't speak for a moment, he raised his brows in question. "Well?"

She sighed. "I've managed to expedite Peter's deportation. He and his lackeys will be dealt with at London HQ. Most of the other Council hierarchy had no idea what he was up to, nor do they approve of his actions. I believe the exact words Sir Charles used were that he will be 'severely reprimanded'."

Giles' smile took on a decidedly wicked bent. "Excellent," he said in a satisfied tone.

Lydia wasn't sure she wanted an explanation. She unobtrusively straightened her glasses, looking a little sheepish. "I'm, um, I'm to be made temporary head of operations."

"A position you well deserve." Giles reached up and began plucking her hairpins out one by one, he preferred her less straight-laced. "I can't think of anyone better suited." He curled a freed lock of wheaten hair around his finger. "When do you leave?"

"I don't."

"You…" He paused and frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

Lydia pulled away. He really was the most distracting man. "Buffy and Spike were correct in their allegations that the Council serves no purpose as it is. It's ludicrous for us to be sitting in a comfortable boardroom on the other side of the planet, espousing defunct theorems and participating at our leisure. It hardly puts us in a position for any Slayer to take us seriously. I can certainly see why I wasn't." She grimaced in self-deprecation. "I was so…"

"You were exactly what you were taught to be," Giles said softly. "It is to your credit that you were able to see past the hypocrisy and deceit, to make up your own mind and exert your own agenda. Your loyalty was to your Slayer – as it always should have been."

"Dawn will always be my first priority," Lydia agreed. "As Buffy is yours."

Giles gave her a small smile. "She's far outgrown my guidance, I'm afraid."

Lydia shook her head. "I think not. You're her family, Rupert, just as much as Spike or Seth, or any of her friends."

"You are the most extraordinary woman," he murmured wonderingly. "I'm so glad you're staying."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "So am I."

-x-

Dawn glanced up from sharpening her sword when the training room door opened.

Angel. Great. Perfect. Just what she needed.

Although she'd come to terms with her feelings for the vampire - and the underlying crush persisted despite her desire for it not to - he still wasn't someone she wanted see right at that moment.

"Hey," he greeted softly.

"Yeah, hey." She ducked her head, ostensibly returning to the task at hand, but really taking the opportunity to hide behind the curtain of hair that fell forward. She recoiled in shock when it was brushed back, and blinked up into those deep, dark eyes.

"I'm proud of you, you know," Angel told her, tucking the strands behind her ear.

She rolled her eyes. "Like that makes a difference."

"I realize that it doesn't, but…for what it's worth."

"Yeah. Whatever. Thanks, I guess."

The vampire stared at her for a long time, to the point of making her uncomfortable. She squirmed under his scrutiny.

"What?"

"I, uh, I'm leaving for LA in a couple of hours. I just wanted to…"

"Say goodbye. Yeah, I get it." Dawn gave him an airy little wave. "See ya."

He sighed. "Dawn…"

"Again, _what_? What is your problem? I get it, alright? I don't need you coming in here, trying to be my friend, and giving me the big let's-keep-in-touch speech, when I'm not actually going to see you anymore."

"Says who?" he asked. "I get all kinds of cases that need consultation. So does Buffy. We liaise a lot."

"Sounds kinky."

Angel actually cracked a grin at that. "It's not. What I'm proposing here is…I want you to act as my liaison. I mean, it won't be full-time, so it shouldn't interfere with your schoolwork too much, and you could travel back and forth between here and my agency, and even with the Hellmouth closed there's a lot of slaying that still needs to be done, with plenty of opportunity for…"

Dawn watched him talk, really taking the time to see him as he truly was. It was inspiring. Angel had made mistakes, it was true, but his past didn't matter. Not anymore. What mattered was the here and now. And, after everything he had said to her before about not being worthy, now he was here asking her to take Faith's place.

Other than that initial cursory glance at the file, she hadn't really been interested in the other Slayer's life, and she was ashamed of how dismissive she'd been. He'd been right to be so angry and disappointed. She hoped she was above that kind of selfishness now. Slaying was her calling, her destiny. She knew what she had to do.

"You know, for someone who doesn't breathe, you can do a mean run-on sentence."

He latched onto her positive tone eagerly. "Does this mean you're going to say yes?"

"Maybe." Dawn smiled. "Besides, I really want to meet this mysterious Cordelia of yours. She's gotta be something special if you chose her over the nubile young Slayer hotness that is me."

It took him a second to realize she was teasing. "Yeah," he deadpanned. "That was tough."

She nodded. "Hardest decision of your life."

"Absolutely."

They grinned at each other, finally at peace with who they were and where their lives were heading. It was time to move forward.

-x-

Seth popped his head out the door, checked in both directions, and then ducked back inside the room. "'S all clear," he said in a hushed undertone. "Spike's downstairs."

He hustled out along the hallway, every inch of his tiny body radiating supernatural stealth.

Buck followed on his heels, shuffling his feet, one thumb firmly positioned in his mouth and a plastic dinosaur hanging by its elongated neck from his other hand. "Where w'goin'?" he mumbled around the digit.

"Shhh," Seth hissed. "We's huntin', alright?"

Buck stared placidly into his friend's burning golden eyes, then shrugged. "'Kay."

Seth focused on the doorway to the guest bedroom – the former haven of Buffy's teenage years – and a little frown of concentration formed between his brows. The air around him began to crackle with energy. He made a little stop-start motion, rocking on the balls of his feet and pushing the air with his hands as though making an abortive attempt at an attack, and the crackling energy carried on the forward momentum without him. The door flew open, hinges buckling under the onslaught and the wood splintering.

Buck blinked. "Dat's broke," he said.

Seth contemplated the mess. He'd just wanted to show Butt his cool new power and now he was gonna be in trouble again, maybe even grounded. He heard his father moving downstairs seconds before his voice echoed up the staircase.

"_Nip!_"

"Hide," he whispered, and they both made a run for it.

-x-

Buffy came into the house and collapsed onto the sofa, wearily tossing her purse onto the coffee table. "Man, Anya just pops them out and gets right back to business, doesn't she?"

Spike looked up from the book he was reading. He was acting as calm and casual as possible, not of a mind to raise a ruckus about the Nip's latest shenanigans just yet. That would come later. "She's doin' alright?"

"Better than Xander." She pointed a finger at him. "He said he still owes you for the gaping head wound, by the way. Revenge, apparently, will be sweet."

Spike shrugged. The day the whelp got the better of him was the day he deserved the getting. "So, they decide on a name yet? Done naught but quarrel about it, the two of them."

"Well, since she wasn't a boy and they couldn't use the one name they had agreed on - 'Cash', if you're wondering - Anya was all for calling her 'Capital'." When Spike's brows shot up, she nodded. "Scary, I know, but I kid you not."

He closed the book and peered at her cautiously, taking in the beloved features one by one; twinkling green eyes, pursed lips. _Not kidding, his skinny white bum. There was no way she was telling the whole story here._ "Uh huh. Well, here's hoping the whelp put his foot down on that one."

"They…" Buffy pressed her lips together harder, losing the struggle to keep a straight face. A little hiccup escaped before she spoke again. "…_Compromised_."

"On?"

A pause, and then she tossed out the punch-line to her little private joke. "Free Enterprise."

Spike's expression said it all and Buffy exploded into laughter.

The vampire shook his head, outraged. "_Free Harris?_" he burst out. "Are they completely daft? She sounds like a bloody political campaign!"

By this point, Buffy couldn't even speak. She howled and doubled over onto the arm of the sofa, one hand slapping the cushion at her side, tears coursing down her cheeks.

"Oh, man, I so had you!" she hiccupped, wiping her cheeks. "No, thankfully they followed the logical train and progressed from 'Free' to 'Liberty' and that's what stuck. Xan's been calling her 'Libby'." She sniffed and then began giggling to herself again. "'Free Enterprise'."

Spike watched her, his own face breaking into a grin as her merriment bubbled up inside him. God, she was beautiful when she laughed. He felt himself falling in love all over again, getting that good deep-down kind of tingle. Felt himself getting…well, a bit nauseous actually. He frowned. That was odd. He had the constitution of an ox, hadn't been sick since…since… _Oh, bollocks._

He blanched. "Uh, pet?"

Buffy sniffed again and wiped at her cheeks. "What?"

"Got somethin' else you want to tell me?"

She just looked at him with her heart in her eyes and gave him a serene Mona Lisa smile. "Oh, I think you can figure it out."

_"Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family."_

_- Anthony Brandt_

THE END


End file.
